


Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood

by EtInAO3Ego



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne and Gilbert, Bash is the captain of this ship, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Multi, Mutual Pining, Romance, Scandalous medical textbook, Shirbert, Shirbert is embarrassed the entire time, also i overuse descriptions of the sun, yeah this is the avonlea sex ed fic that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtInAO3Ego/pseuds/EtInAO3Ego
Summary: Following the now infamous dance scene, Gilbert runs after Anne and starts a chain of events that has our favourite couple finally getting a clue - but not before they experience the heights and depths of mortification!Featuring: Charlie, the Take Notice board, and a scandalous medical textbook.Chapter 5: Anne and Gilbert finally talk to each other ... well, sort of





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have ever written about Anne of Green Gables/Anne with an E. I always thought I would never be able to find a style or a plot that would do such a beautiful book and such a brilliant show justice. But this season has SENT me and I have been waiting for an idea that would let me spend more time in the wonderful world of Avonlea.
> 
> Then this happened and it absolutely ran away from me. I just wanted to write a cute post dance scene but I now have a 3000 word plan, an outline for at least two more chapters, and this monstrous 5,700 word fluff piece.
> 
> I blame the spin - far too much scope for the imagination.
> 
> <3

The spring sunshine was relentless as Gilbert walked down the schoolhouse steps, intent on getting as far away from Anne Shirley-Cuthbert as possible.

His hand still burned from where he had touched her, blatantly disregarding their ordered lines and pulling her into his set. His feet hammered down the steps as he raced to put distance between himself and whatever he had left behind in that small room with the lit-up windows creating a halo behind her molten hair. Anne's gaze had not wavered, meeting his as assuredly and simply as the sun does the earth.

Gilbert hadn't exactly been uncomfortable at the idea of dancing - more resigned than anything else. He had been hoping to get the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible and return to his studies in peace. He was still mystified by the properties of honey and was certainly pleased to see Moody healing so well, but no matter how many sources he scoured for mentions of natural remedies like willow bark as a cure for pain he had yet to find anything concrete. But he was determined and - for the first time since Mary's death - hopeful. 

In any case, he had assumed sticking close to Dian would be his safest bet. She could usually be relied upon not to laugh to cruelly when he inevitably made a fool of himself. Diana was a true pal in a classroom that was becoming increasingly claustrophobic as watchful eyes everywhere _Took Notice_.

Unfortunately, Diana, canny as always, had left him at the first opportunity and all but pushed him towards Anne.

Glowing, brilliant, infuriating Anne.

He had been verging on mortified when she stepped up in front of him, knowing that dancing with Anne would be overwhelming at best and completely disastrous at worst.

Then, he'd caught her eye and he had remembered every other time he had found himself facing her like this and he suddenly fell back into orbit.

He was reminded of Bash and Mary's wedding - facing her in the church - feeling everything a once and being comforted by the intensity.

He was reminded of that long walk home after Mary's death and Anne's light arms pulling him impossibly close. Holding him up with the strength of her will.

He remembered that this was his friend. _Carrots_. The girl that sent him notes over oceans and always, always, found a way to correct him.

So, he had smirked at her and she had smiled back and it all became a splendid adventure - Anne always did know how to conduct those best.

That first round would have been fine. Anne across from him, the two of them laughing at the disaster of it all - perfectly lovely in its familiarity.

Then they had danced a second time.

As Moody picked up his banjo and strummed out the Dashing White Seargent the steps clicked into place and with it, Gilbert felt something shift. Anne was across from him, almost as close as they had ever been, and she was breath-taking. Smiling so brightly up at him. Meeting his gaze and for once not hurriedly looking away but seeming to delight in it.

Gilbert was soaring - danced straight into the heavens by one Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

He didn't want to return back to earth and so, as she stepped forwards to join her set, he grabbed her hand and spun her around to his side.

Her delighted laugh had made his own smile somehow even wider and the rest of the dance passed in a whirling blur of reaching out and touching and pulling closer and flying on the wind of it all.

Gilbert stopped in his tracks just outside the schoolhouse, the sun glinting down his usual path home. He turned his head as the corner of his eye automatically caught the glowing red of a braid whip round the hedgerow. Anne, walking down her usual path, parallel to his but never meeting. He knew he had disrupted this order. He had pulled her out of her line into his own - no longer parallel but side by side.

The soaring should have lasted forever and it almost did. Even when the music stopped and everyone broke the spell, Gilbert would have been content to stand there and look at Anne, closer to the sun than he had ever felt.

But she had broken their gaze only for them to end up facing each other once again in the coatroom - split apart and brought down to earth.

Gilbert had been confused then - distracted by the chatter and the remembrance of the grounded world.

Now, as he watched her race away, he felt that same peculiar clarity that always compelled him to move closer.

The sun flared in his eyes as he abruptly whirled towards the other road. Racing forwards and after Anne.

In his haste, he almost ran headfirst into Charlie Sloane, knocking into his shoulder, but paying no heed as he carried on moving forwards.

'Ow!' He heard distantly from behind him, and then, 'Gilbert! - _Gilbert_ \- No!'

He barely heard Charlie as he hurtled towards Anne, on the earth path that almost matched her hair - with all of its colour and none of its intensity.

He came up by her side once more and grabbed her hand.

* * *

Anne had been dreading the dancing ever since it had been announced. She just knew, deep in her bones, that it would only lead to trouble and the days events had confirmed it.

She had tried to avoid Charlie but he insistently stood by her side as they made their sets and she resigned herself to another terrible encounter. The exhaustion of maturity sure was getting to her and she longed for the days before that wretched Take Notice board was revived.

She felt obliged to shift as close to Diana (and as far away from Charlie as possible) and was just doing so when Gilbert Blythe walked towards her and upended everything in her vicinity - as usual.

The infuriating smirk reached all the way to his eyes and with the sun shining brightly upon his face she saw the deep brown flare almost grey-green. It stopped her in her tracks and her anxiety rose ever higher as he looked directly at her.

She was trapped – in his orbit and likely never leaving. Curse Ruby for pointing out his romantical eyes and tragically handsome face.

He had always been unsettling in his certainty. Always seeming to be two steps ahead, waiting for her to catch up. Even now, when the thumping in her heart – in her very soul - reached a fevered pitch, he stood tall and firm – completely resolute.

He never wavered. She knew they had had their moments. She remembered the day they had met – how he had followed her, insistent, talking about slaying dragons for her.

Even in deepest grief he seemed steady – and that truly scared her – the conviction with which he went through life. He was as stubborn as she was but while she flew away from the world when it drew up tragedy he felt compelled to tend to it.

She remembered Mary’s death, the completeness with which he felt his family rip apart yet again. Things were different now - she could reach out to him - she should reach out to him. He was firm in his grief and though she didn’t know how to bring him out of it she refused to leave him alone. And so she had held him up and her heart had almost beat out of her chest, but they seemed to squeeze each other back together.

Dancing, they were almost as close as they were then – as they moved towards each other, almost touching but never quite. She felt herself compelled forward. Drowning in his eyes – eyes that had the confusing property of making her feel herself and not, all at once.

But he was smiling and, despite being utterly enrapturing, he was Gilbert - her rival. His smirk was daring her to meet him step for step - and she did, laughing all the while. That first dance was disastrous and lovely and she delighted in the simple joy.

Unfortunately, Ruby’s crisis had drawn her out of her high spirits. “It’s not topical”?

What on earth should that mean? She knew she knew more than the other girls - had been forced to know more sooner than she would have preferred. She squirmed as she remembered pet mice and the looming sense that one day - one day _soon_, she would have to deal with it. She always felt strange and different - othered by the topic - especially as all the girls turned to her, expecting her to have the answers. She felt, in that moment, that she could not possibly ever face it. It unnerved her and as they all looked to her she found herself wanting not to be concerned with the mounting horror of reproduction but rather to return to the dance – free from the terror she felt at the future – drawn once again into the comfort of Gilbert – always certain, always true.

She got her wish alright. Ruby sat out and watched Moody play his banjo and for some unknown, unearthly reason – the second dance catapulted both her and Gilbert from the ground and into the air high above.

She had always been acutely – painfully – aware that Gilbert was a boy, a _man_ – but moving towards him in her set she stopped feeling like his opposite – his rival. His smirk became a gentle smile and their closeness felt less like a pressing overwhelming thing and more like the certainty with which one breathes.

As they danced closer and then further apart, like lungs gasping, she moved – as if pulled through the air, inexorably – towards him.

She should have been startled by his brash “Nope” but it felt like the most natural thing to break her hand from Charlie's as Gilbert pulled her ever closer and spun her until she was by his side.

By his side.

She had whirled closer throughout the dance and felt the joy of truth swelling up inside her. They had moved beyond something, she felt. And the small, still voice rose within her.

Until they were back to standing face to face, as they usually found themselves – but this time felt _new_ – this time she wasn’t two steps behind. He had pulled her right up to his side. This – this was ...

She had shocked back into her skin as his gaze pierced hers - perhaps too sharply. She was once again intensely aware that he was Gilbert and it rushed up to meet her with it’s intensity.

Anne bolted. She needed to leave, leave Gilbert, standing in the coatroom - once again so alien. He felt so out of reach that she couldn’t believe the rising well in her chest could be made by him.

She needed to fly away from the ground - away from the school, and her classmates, and _him_ \- and so she ran out into the spring sunshine and let it push back against her.

She immediately regretted it, as the sun beat down and she ripped away from the earth, all she yearned for was to be brought back into orbit. To hold his hand in hers and look into his steady eyes.

She dared not hope that he would follow her. She knew – she_ knew_, that a tragical romance was unlikely – but she always hoped, _always_. She looked forward – out into the wide world and hoped that_ maybe, one day - _the still voice whispered - _maybe he would find her in it._

Anne vaguely heard shouting behind her, it sounded like Charlie and she quickened her pace – willing herself away from the odious boy. _That_, she remembered, was why she would not concern herself with such ... _frippery_! It was a flight of fancy – it did not hold scope for the imagination – her life would not be a glorious romance but rather a thankless march against mundanity.

It was no use to hope, romance would not simply appear in her life – she would have to seek it, find it in other things – yes, she would –

She felt a hand grasp hers and she yelped.

It was as if he had heard her pleading and then appeared - his large, warm hand in hers, holding tightly. His face ernest and almost desperate, but all the while intent upon her. His eyes shining – open and true.

She lost all her shock as she melted into it, warm in the buttery sunshine. Somehow, he was here.

She looked up into his eyes and once again brimmed over with the feeling of it all. But she did not let go of his hand. She did not believe she could.

‘Gilbert,’ she said hoarsely, somehow pushing the words out, over the well in her throat, ‘what are you doing?’

At this, he looked startled himself. She saw his eyes flick behind her towards Charlie, who was watching them indignantly.

‘Why are you following me?’ she asked again, now suspicious. _What on earth was he doing? _She felt Charlie’s gaze burning holes into the back of her head and anger bubbled up and scorched inside her. 

‘Gilbert Blythe!’ She shouted, dropping his hand insistently, and turning towards him, ‘just what do you think you are doing? Its – its outrageous! _How dare you!_ How dare you follow me! As if you hadn’t had your share of misdeeds today – is it not enough to upset everything once? Now you’re following me, why I – I ought to – _Gilbert!_’

He was laughing at her. Gilbert Blythe was standing in the sun drenched path - green hedgerow and red earth all around him, tall and handsome as ever - laughing at her misfortune. She felt her entire body shift into anger. She wished she had a slate. His eyes were shining that brown and green and grey again. She would not stand for this!

Anne turned to go and once again Gilbert reached out for her hand. She whipped it out of his and stared up at him, betrayed.

‘Anne,’ Gilbert said, sobering, his hand clenching at his side like she had burned him, ‘I’m not following you.’ He looked deep into her eyes, pleading almost, to let him come closer. ‘Cross my heart, I swear it,’ he said taking a step.

Anne could not believe she wasn’t running. _He was here, he was here, he was here_. That was all that beat in her head as she looked up at him. She wanted - she didn't know what. _She wanted to stop burning!_

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,’ Gilbert said, quietly, ‘would you allow me to walk home with you?’

* * *

Gilbert swore the sound of Charlie groaning behind him was really the sound of angels as Anne nodded uncertainly and came to walk by his side.

He beamed down at her and could scarecely believe he had managed this – that he was allowed to be close to her – that she was smiling right back.

‘Um,’ he said, his voice croaking, as they began their walk. He saw her smile widen beside him and his cheeks flamed redder than her hair.

'Um, I mean … that’s great … I would appreciate that.’

His face burned as her head whipped round to look up at him.

‘You – you would appreciate it?’

It felt like he was being dipped in fire, ‘I mean …’ he scrambled, ‘we’re going the same way and it seems silly not to.’ He coughed, trying to get his voice to come out right.

She was looking at him with the same pleading eyes as that day when she had cornered him in the coatroom. He could feel himself disappointing her. He yearned to reach out and grab her hand again, to spin her round and round and dance with her in the fields, and through the forest, and right up to Green Gables. But he decided that staying silent was probably his best bet.

So they walked up the shining path all the way to the forest and all the while Gilbert couldn’t help glancing at Anne – hoping she would say something but also dreading it. Her eyes were no longer trained on him and she was walking just out of reach. He still felt the sun beating down on himself and hoped the forest would cool his face and allow him some clarity. He wished he knew what to say – _what to do_. He was walking home with Anne. He never expected to get that far.

As they approached the forest, the light shining off her hair fractured and as the shadows of green and yellow passed over her face it seemed that Anne herself fractured too. There was the Anne at school – passionate, as always, but upstanding and learned. Here, in the forest, she shimmered along with the glinting light and no longer seemed a very real, solid thing. Gilbert felt that she might drift away with the light, dancing up along the forest paths and deeper into the wood.

But she remained fixed at his side and, amidst her transformation into this other Anne, he also saw her relax. This was her home. This was where she was truest and most brilliant. This was where she was most brave.

* * *

Anne looked up at Gilbert and wished he would say something – _anything._ She knew, or more likely hoped, that he wasn’t only accompanying her for the sake of convenience. Her hand was still burning, despite the cooler forest and she felt she could positively scorch out of her skin at any moment.

Having Gilbert walking alongside her in the forest was once again verging on too much. The dappled light kept turning his eyes from light to dark and from dark to light. He was glinting as much as the tremendous green trees and their glimmering leaves.

This was her place of beauty and serenity and here was Gilbert, somehow beside her, truly apart of it after being invited in.

She remembered first meeting him in this forest. On a much colder, bleaker day. He had said he would slay dragons for her. He had seemed a magic, overwhelming creature that day. Born out of mist and winter light. Simply impossible.

Of course he had become Gilbert after that – pragmatic, strong, steady Gilbert. Infuriatingly intelligent – never letting her off. It wasn’t often that she remembered him as a mist-swathed figure of lore. He always seemed strongly anchored to the real world, but there had been moments – over the years he had seemed to become more than Gilbert the boy. Like when he stood by the final lighted candle at a Christmas tree, with eyes that couldn’t possibly be described as practical.

She felt his hand brush against hers, having unconsciously moved closer to him – he was somehow all things at once to her.

She looked up at him and found him transfixed by the lighted forest and she too realised the beauty of the moment and smiled.

‘I appreciate this,’ she said in the most certain voice she could muster. It didn’t come out sounding as daring as she had hoped and she felt some of the light flicker but then he looked down towards her and she knew he had understood.

He smiled down at her as they waltzed through the forest, hands brushing, and Anne’s own heart hammering.

So this was what walking home with a boy was. It seemed scarcely different than walking with herself, or Diana – she was still free to look out into the world and imagine – and so she did.

She pointed out the trees that she talked with most and hoped aloud of climbing into their dreamiest bower. She ran up towards the newly sprouted crocuses and marvelled at their beauty and wondered if this were a long lost love of her dearest Snowqueen.

All the while Gilbert walked beside her and replied in turn telling her of climbing apple trees and pointing out the bees buzzing around the flowers, busying themselves at their task.

‘I find it fascinating,’ Gilbert said, ‘the process by which honey – the most marvellous of substances – can be created. How it can heal wounds and have antiseptic properties and be made from _flowers_!’

Anne’s face felt strained from smiling so much. Gilbert could talk just as much as her. Telling her of his own queen in his apiary and always finding a way to push her ideas forward or turn them on their head.

_He was positively lovely_ – for a boy – Anne thought, as they came to the crossroads where her and Diana usually parted.

Oh, dearest Diana! Anne could hardly believe she hadn’t been missing her on the walk. They scarcely had 120 days left together and here she was fraternising with Gilbert Blythe!

She stopped abruptly. _Where on earth had Diana got to after the dance?_ Anne knew something had to be going on – she had rushed off the last time and had been terribly distracted recently. Why, she had barely cared at all about the dancing on the many occasions Anne had taken to complain at the prospect of it. _And,_ she flippantly denied any interest whatsoever in the many postings dedicated to herself on the Take Notice board. It was as if Diana was no longer concerned by imminent courtships!

Anne felt her stomach drop out from under her. She became acutely aware of Gilbert by her side. Staring at her, wondering why she had stopped. What if Diana was walking home with a boy herself? Anne gulped. That was too much, she thought. She wouldn’t believe it of Diana. She wouldn’t believe it of herself – and yet …

She looked up at Gilbert, mortified. _Oh, what was she doing?_ She hadn’t the faintest clue! She remembered all the girls looking to her, prompted by Ruby’s ridiculous assertions.

It was all suddenly far too grown up – here was Gilbert, his hand brushing against hers, tall and a boy and two years older – a man! He knew what he was doing. It was foolish to think of him as just Gilbert, as someone she could stand side by side with – as someone she was equal to.

Gilbert had seen the world – he was studying to become a doctor! _He _would have had answers to Ruby’s questions.

Anne felt her entire body positively set aflame. _Oh, what was she doing! _She wanted to run, she wanted to scream.

She wanted to reach out and grab Gilbert’s hand if only to stop it moving against hers as if sparking a match over and over.

That was the worst, most tragical, most mortifying part. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his equal – she wanted to be.

She wanted to answer Ruby’s questions and she wanted to walk home with Gilbert Blythe and _she wanted to know if reproduction was topical or not!_

* * *

Gilbert should have learned by now to stop being surprised by Anne.

Throughout their walk he had felt his heart hammering in his chest, so loudly and insistently it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it herself.

She was dazzling and - for once, for this blessed moment – he was allowed to be caught up within it. To meet her in her forest kingdom and feel both within and without the wonderful world.

His hand kept brushing up against hers, tantalizing him and he tried to muster the courage to reach out. To fight against the thoughts that shouted that it would be most improper.

But now he knew what it was to hold her hand and hadn’t Winifred said the best part of knowing the rules was finding ways to break them. He had tried to understand – all the parts of the world, the rules, whatever made his heart hammer – but he wasn’t sure he actually knew anything, let alone how to break rules.

And so he had let his hand brush against hers in blissful agony, trying to figure it out – trying to understand.

And then … then Anne declared something that left him astounded.

‘I want to know if reproduction is topical,’ she all but shouted out into the forest, seeming to disregard caution and propriety and _sanity_!

Gilbert actually thought he could feel his brain break.

_What on earth?_

Anne herself didn’t seem to be fairing much better. It seemed as though she hadn’t meant to say anything aloud – if the way she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands was anything to go by.

This was what Gilbert meant – he didn’t understand anything!

‘Topical?’ his voice properly failed him this time and it came out more of a squeak than anything else.

He wanted the earth to swallow him whole – just the thought of Anne and reproduction in one sentence was enough to send him reeling, to embarrass him to his very core and to make him desperately wish he didn’t feel a horrible stirring within.

He cleared his throat and tried to push on. He wanted to become a doctor - for goodness sakes, he had delivered a baby! He should be able to handle this.

‘You want to know … about … about _reproduction_?’

Anne burst into tears.

Gilbert didn't think he could handle this.

He was so shocked he could only stand there for a moment, watching as Anne wept – embarrassed and overwhelmed – before he sprung into action and pulled her close.

Despite the topic – despite the pressing mortification – despite the uncomfortable stirrings – this was Anne. His friend - he couldn’t bear to see her in such a confused state. 

‘Anne,’ he whispered, ‘Anne, please tell me what’s going on.’

She pushed him away so harshly he almost fell backwards.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she yelled, scandalized, skittering away from him - still crying, still mortified – and still infuriating.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said, putting his hands up. He didn’t have a clue.

Her limpid, tear-filled eyes finally met his and he wished his body would stop reacting like that – he wanted to jump out of his own skin.

‘Please can you explain Anne,’ he said with a huff, ‘you can’t – you can’t just say something like that!’

Anne seemed chastened and terribly embarrassed as she hurriedly tried to wipe the tears from her eyes.

‘It was Ruby – she … she wouldn’t dance because – well her mother said that … _reproduction_,’ she whispered the word, ‘can happen if you’re near a boy.’

Gilbert’s eyes bugged out of his head but before he could correct her, she pressed on.

‘I know,’ she said, holding her hand up, ‘I know that’s ridiculous but I still don’t … _know_ – what, precisely, happens … and then Miss Stacy said it wasn’t topical and – well, if it isn’t topical, then what is it? And I thought I didn’t want to know but then … well, I think I need to know and I don’t know who to ask and oh, Gilbert, please forget I said anything! Please, can we move on from this ridiculous conversation – _please_, can we forget about it?’

Gilbert was so warm he was surprised steam wasn’t coming off the top of his head.

He couldn’t believe Ruby could be so misinformed. That even Anne – educated, intelligent Anne – could be so thrown off kilter and confused.

_Did she really not know?_ He couldn’t believe it. _Surely girls knew?_ Anne had to at least know the – the mechanics!

But who would have told her. He blushed scarlet as he remembered that Marilla was a spinster and was likely very unexperienced in that area herself. _Surely there was someone else Anne could have gone to?_ Someone close and trusted who could explain – someone kind and caring – who could be an example.

Gilbert felt his throat tighten.

‘I wish Mary where here,’ he said and Anne abruptly stopped wringing her hands together and looked at him in sympathy.

‘I miss her too, Gilbert, but this hardly seems the time –‘

‘I only meant, Anne, that she would have been the person to ask.’

It seemed to dawn on Anne and her brilliantly blue eyes became stormy again and weepy as she remembered Mary.

‘She really was the most wonderful woman – I treasured her, like a sister,' she sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall.

Gilbert moved towards her again. Needing to be close – to comfort her – bully the ridiculous conversation.

‘May I – Anne, may I hold your hand.’

She looked at him with those impassioned, storming eyes and he almost took a step back.

‘I – I promise no … _reproduction_ … will take place.’

Anne rolled her eyes and suddenly they were laughing. Anne through tears and Gilbert with his hand outstretched. Laughing in the middle of their magical forest in the midst of the most ridiculous conversation ever had by either of them.

‘Thank you, Gilbert,’ Anne said, taking his hand and swinging it between them. ‘I know I probably shouldn’t have asked but – well … thank you.’

‘It’s no problem, Anne,’ he said running his thumb over the back of her hand and dreading his next words.

‘But ... do you really not know?’

Her grip tightened and he saw her face fall.

‘_Gilbert_,’ she warned, ‘I asked you to forget about it.’

‘I can’t forget about it!’ He exclaimed, exasperated.

She looked so scandalized he realized his mistake at once.

‘Not – not like that!’ he hurriedly corrected, ‘maybe … _No!_ Not like that.’

She still seemed skeptical and he couldn’t blame her - he was failing miserably.

‘I just meant, Anne, that – that, well … you need to know.’

He was really putting his foot in it.

She was seething, ‘And why, Gilbert Blythe, do I “need to know”? Hmmm? It has nothing to do with you!’

He needed to fix this, now.

‘I know it has nothing to do with me,’ he whispered, pulling her hand closer, ‘I just meant that, as a – a woman - you deserve to know. So that you can’t be taken advantage of. So that you can go out and meet the world – fully and completely – without fear or ignorance.’

* * *

Anne was mortified. Positively ready to start digging her own grave. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She couldn’t believe she had asked Gilbert Blythe _that_.

And then his response was to try and hug her! _Was he mad?_ Of course, she knew that wasn't how it worked – but that didn’t mean she could stand being close to him while thinking of it! 

And to top it all off, he had gone and mentioned Mary and left her in a puddle of tears. _She had lost her guide through womanhood!_ She was distraught – she had known Mary was a treasure to her but she had never thought of it in such plain terms. Mary had been as a sister to her and now she was gone and Anne felt herself floundering.

But somehow she had remained planted to the earth throughout the horrific conversation and had come out the end of it – laughing, and inexplicably still holding Gilbert’s hands.

He had positively scandalized her. She had been right in her assumption that he had _known_, but he had mysteriously also taken the terror right out of it.

His gleaming words – “So that you can go out and meet the world – fully and completely – without fear or ignorance” had drawn her back down from the cliffs edge, made her relax into herself and remember the wide world.

The rest of the walk home was a much less dizzying affair than before she had blurted out her most private thoughts, but it was far from miserable. She held his hand all the way and though she could hardly bear to glance at him she felt the thrumming of his pulse through his wrist against her own.

‘You know,’ he said as they started up the path towards Green Gables, ‘I have a – uh … well, I have a medical textbook you might find useful.’

She refused to meet his eyes although she could feel them boring into her.

‘It’s not – it’s not like _that_,’ he hurriedly assured her, ‘but it explains things – scientifically, you know. It would benefit you academically. Yes, _academically_ – and would help explain things more.’

She forced herself to meet his eyes. It was a book after all - how scandalous could it be?

‘And you’ve read it – this book?’

He turned beet red. ‘Um – yes I have ... the book! – I’ve read the book. Dr. Ward gave it to me.’

Anne had no idea why Gilbert was turning almost purple but now that she knew the book was a perfectly respectable, academic affair she felt their old rivalry flair up and knew she would be remiss to pass up on this opportunity to match Gilbert’s knowledge.

‘I would like to read it,’ she said decidedly, ‘If you would be so kind as to lend it to me.’

She really hoped Gilbert would return to a normal colour soon – it was starting to get worrisome.

But alas, that was not to be, as they came up to the gate of Green Gables and saw Matthew amidst the vegetable patch. He was standing, having caught sight of her and Gilbert coming up the way – _holding hands_.

She dropped his as quickly as if it were a fire brand and hurried forwards towards the gate.

‘Thank you ever so much for the – _interesting_ – walk home, Gilbert. I shall see about the book next time we meet!’

And then she was sprinting away, through the gate and towards the house as fast as her wobbling legs would carry her. Completely discombobulated by the entire afternoon – too dazed to look back at Gilbert and too terrified to watch Matthew’s face to find out how much he had seen. She steadfastly refused to interact with either of them.

She whirled into the house and straight up to Marilla who was startled into a crushing hug by Anne.

‘Oh, Marilla,’ Anne said desperately, ‘it’s so comforting to see a woman!’


	2. Chapter 2

Anne had passed the evening dreamily – seeming far away from Green Gables – caught up in the whirling dervish that was apparent in her glazed eyes.

Of course, Marilla had been astounded by her behaviour upon her return. _Just what had the child been up to?_ It was like Anne to always come flying at her with a new flight of fancy but in this instance it seemed particulary dire.

_“It’s so comforting to see a woman!”_

That child caused no end of concern for Marilla – it was a wonder her heart still beat what with the number of antics Anne continually threw at her.

However, unfortunate as it may be, Marilla had to assume that that evening’s particular hysterics were more pressing than she would ever wish to admit.

Her Anne had been positively aflame. With wild eyes and a frantic energy that did nothing but set Marilla’s teeth on edge.

‘Anne, dear,’ she had said, as Anne clung to her, burying her red face, ‘just what has gotten into you?’

‘Oh, Marilla …’ Anne had said, not falling short of the usual pathos she swept up in her voice.

And then, lord help her, the child had begun to laugh.

It was the sort of laugh that was entirely unsettingly and held far too many _giggles_ for Marilla’s taste. She knew, then, that this was the start of the period of Anne’s upbringing that she had been dreading most.

Marilla found herself floundering – not having any idea what to do. She longed for some sort of aid – god knows, Rachel would be of no help – thank heavens she was distracted with Muriel Stacy (Marilla reminded herself to add that ill-fated girl to her prayers). Poor Anne did not deserve Rachel’s meddling and Marilla herself could hardly stand it.

Not for the first time, and most probably not for the last, Marilla felt a pang in her chest as she remembered Mary – constant, loving, caring Mary. She would have known what to do.

As her heart ached and as her mind worried, somehow, Marilla still could not help the joy that came with seeing Anne laugh – whatever the cause. It had been a hard spring and to see Anne come out the other side was of great comfort to her.

But none of this placated Marilla as she sent Anne upstairs to get ready for supper and set about preparing their meal. She was nervous – glad to have been a comfort to Anne in her … _womanhood_ … but hardly feeling deserving of the qualification. Something would have to be done - but the thought made her head ache as she pressed on in the kitchen.

The looming sense of dread only became more pronounced when Matthew came in for supper and she saw, reflected on his face, her same startled expression.

‘Matthew,’ Marilla started, firmly, which only had the effect of startling him all the more. He ducked his head and she prepared herself for a painful conversation. ‘_Matthew_ – what do you know?’

The effect on him was instantaneous and he set about muttering about leaving his boots out and needing to double check the fence. She would have none of it. He knew something and, although she had declared she would raise Anne herself, she found that presently she was intensely regretting that decision.

‘Matthew Cuthbert! Tell me at once,’ she said this so firmly that he sat down quite abruptly and began with a sigh.

‘The … Gilbert – she, uh … well Anne … he, uh – walked her … he – Gilbert – he walked her home,’ Matthew said, stumbling and mumbling his way through, head bent but with a look of intense thought and bewilderment set upon his face.

At hearing the name “Gilbert” Marilla knew that her life would never again know peace. Of course, it was Gilbert – with Anne, it usually was.

She felt another ache, less pronounced this time, but still insistent, as she remembered John. She thought maybe, now, she had a more proper understanding of what Anne was feeling.

She sobered as she remembered him though – it seemed far too many of her kindred spirits were lost to her.

And she felt the ever-pressing regret that circled about her soul – small and timid and understood – but still there all the same.

She could only hope to guide Anne through her own life as she would have wished to be guided herself.

‘Right,’ Marilla had said, decidedly, ‘well that explains the fuss. I knew this day would come – but nevermind now, she is just turned 16. We have a while yet before it becomes cause for more … _serious_ concern.’

With that she had turned about, intending to push out all thoughts concerning the matter and to get on with that practical aspects of life that called out to her. However, the comforting familiarty of pragmatism was broken yet again by her brother’s stumbling words.

Matthew’s face hadn’t relaxed at her placations, she now noticed, and as she heard his next words, she understood why.

‘They were – uh, well … they were – uh, holding hands.’

Marilla just about upended the entire dinner at that.

She looked to her brother and saw that his face was as stony as her own and she collapsed in a huff on the nearest chair.

She was sure they made quite the picture, both floundering and showing the struggle of it on their faces.

‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I suppose something must be done.’

Matthew looked even more startled at this prospect.

‘You know it to be true!’ Marilla said firmly, albeit frustratedly, ‘it won’t be long now before he comes a’courting.’

At her words Matthew stood straight up and moved towards the door.

_‘Matthew Cuthbert!_ – You come back here right now!’

It was no use, he was out the door and trekking down to the barn without so much as a backwards glance.

Marilla huffed – _so much for his dinner then!_

* * *

Anne, herself, had spent the night in a perfect storm of happiness and trepidation.

She was astounded by Gilbert Blythe.

Every time she even so much as thought his name her stomach would flutter and her hand would burn.

_How was she ever to look him in the face again!_

Her one solace was the prospect of the book. She felt, that with it to aid her knowledge she would be one step closer to unravelling the seemingly endless knot of maturity and in the process, one step closer to being able to talk to Gilbert again without dying of mortification.

Anne had been slightly concerned when Matthew was not present for dinner and even more unhinged by Marilla’s constant – _unsubtle_ – looks in her direction. _She couldn’t account for any of it!_

She did hope that dear Matthew was all right, but Marilla had assured her that he was simply out tending to Belle.

‘Oh!’ Anne had exclaimed, ‘might I join him? Oh, I know it’s late Marilla but it’s ever so interesting – I find it fascinating! The processes that she must go through as she brings new life into the world!’

At her words Marilla’s face had become even more stony, if that were even possible, and she had set about upending Anne’s fancy.

‘I could not possible allow it!’ Marilla had exclaimed. ‘It’s simply _indecent_ … I mean to go out about there, at this time of night, in your nightclothes!’

Anne had been chastened at that and deflated back down to her seat at the dinner table.

‘No, you would do well to spend your time on more product– _practical!_ – matters.’

Anne was now intensely worried for the well-being of Marilla, as well as Matthew. She could not understand their strange behaviour. _What possible cause would they have for acting so unusually?_ The spirit of mystery had almost enraptured Anne then, before her stomach had sunk right down to her feet.

Matthew had seen her walking with Gilbert. She was sure of it now. _Oh! The abject humiliation. What he must think of her!_

He had evidently told Marilla, too – _oh, Matthew._

She hoped she hadn’t scandalised him – there really wasn’t anything to it – she really should explain.

But the thought of facing him was too much. Even supper with Marilla felt a torturous affair. _Oh, how could she have been so careless?_ Never mind topical reproduction, this shame was horror enough! She simply couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing either of them.

She felt she had failed them somehow.

Supper was a sober affair after that and Anne went straight to bed, hoping to no longer be confronted with Marilla’s obvious disappointment and displeasure.

She passed the night restlessly. Barely falling asleep before being woken again by feverish dreams and the insistent ghost of a hand in her own.

She was positively wretched in the moonlight that lit up her delightful, gabled room. She could not close her eyes because the grey-green-brown was singed onto her eyelids and she feared to dream because she knew it would be of him – warm and sturdy and so much closer than he had ever been –_ than was proper!_

She finally fell into a fitful sleep but when she awoke she felt none of the glory she usually did when presented with the brilliant dawn.

* * *

Gilbert’s walk home from Green Gables was alike to being struck down from the sky.

With Anne no longer at his side he couldn’t be swept up into beauty and wonder – he crashed back down to earth and now had to turn his attention to certain … _realities_.

His face was still burning from his conversation with Anne, his head still spinning, and he cursed every part of himself that felt anything.

This was Anne. Beautiful, kind, and strong. She was radiant. His heart ached thinking of her, seeing her, talking to her. He had known _that_ from almost the moment he saw her. She made him feel - _deeply_.

He knew he cared for her. _How could he not?_ She pulled him and pushed him and drove him mad. Frustrated him.

He coveted the moments he spent with her – with her shining eyes, and even brighter mind. He longed for instances like today where she turned her attention upon him and he could bask in unfettered glory.

But … _this new thing._This horrible, dire, complicated, thrillingly terrible thing.

That was what struck him down.

He had always known he wanted to be close to Anne – he had always chased after her, both in metaphor and in deed – and today he got closer than he had ever been.

In the sunshine, in the simplicity – in the completeness of their meeting, it had seemed as if she could be everything to him.

In the afternoon light, with shadows drawing longer and darker as he trekked home – he didn’t understand it.

She had never been so close and now she had never seemed so far.

She didn’t know. _How could she not know?_

His stomach churned. He felt vile. Their treasured moment was tainted by the knowledge that whatever he had felt she had not known enough to feel in return.

He didn’t just care – he _desired_. It made him indecent.

Anne was bright and beautiful and everything he had ever wanted and … _innocent._

How could he come close to her – how could he reach out – when it seemed she was so far behind?

He remembered feeling this way before. On the train to Charlottetown, accompanying Anne on her quest.

He had hoped it would be another chance to be close to her – to relax in the glory of her presence – to be uplifted by their friendship.

But Anne had dismissed him so fully, so viscerally, that he could not help but feel the gap between them widen.

He was older, she was flighty. He longed for more, and she didn’t know.

That particular instance had also led him to Winifred. She hadn’t made his heart ache. She hadn’t made his stomach turn. Winifred was elegant and lovely and exciting. She knew things, she _understood _things. He didn’t care for her like he did Anne but perhaps that was the point.

Gilbert came up the path towards his home – bright light fading over the hills – the nip in the spring air gliding out on the last sunbeams of light.

Winifred was known – he understood, she understood.

He missed his internship – not just for her, but for the freedom, for the knowledge, for the reprieve. Life had become difficult once again – a grieving Bash, a motherless Delly – and all the while Gilbert yearned for simplicity.

He didn’t want to be caught up in feelings that absolutely ruined him for all else. He didn’t want to be stricken – constantly longing for things that would never be. He wanted to face the world with some certainty.

He all but thundered up the front steps of the house, practically charging through the door, letting it swing on it’s hinges with a crash. Bash looked up, startled, as the door slammed behind Gilbert – closing out the day.

The disturbance set Delly wailing.

‘Blythe, you moke,’ Bash groaned, exasperated, reaching for his daughter.

Gilbert was reeling. He had built himself up into such a bluster that the soft light of his family home and the sight of Bash cooing over Delly appeared in a disconcerting contrast.

‘I’ve just been getting her down to sleep after having that Mrs. Lynde poke around all day,’ Bash rocked little Delly on his hip, muttering all the while.

Gilbert immediately felt terrible – the bluster drained away as he walked up to his family and set about trying to calm Delphine.

‘Delly-welly,’ he shushed, ‘say hello to Gilly-willy, yes, Gilby-wilby-poo is here,’ he grabbed onto her tiny little hand and felt everything settle. This was the certainty he had been craving – his family.

Bash gave a long-suffering sigh as Gilbert continued to coo over Delphine.

‘Enough with that strange talk, Blythe – I’ve had enough of today already what with that Mrs. Lynde. In all my years I never met such a bad case as that one – off her head, ain’t no denying.’

Gilbert looked up at Bash – Delly had quited down finally and he took her from him and moved to lay her down in her cot – something had definitely happened. Gilbert could only hope it was Mrs. Lynde’s usual fair of meddling, but something in Bash’s expression belied the possibility of more serious cause for concern. He would have to be on the look out – Bash didn’t deserve any of the nuisance that Mrs. Lynde was no doubt capable of drawing up.

‘Thank the lord above she had to hurry off to that school of yours,’ Bash continued, ‘I thought I’d never know a moments peace – much rather hand her off to you, Blythe - going on about reeling and the like. Bet she got you turning.’

At this Gilbert was reminded of the … _unfortunate_ events of the day and he stiffened.

It was no use. Even here, in his home, it seemed he would get no escape from her.

He stood up and cleared his throat, ignoring Bash’s teasing completely. ‘I’m going upstairs to wash up,’ he said with what he hoped was an assured air, ‘I’ll be down in a minute to start dinner.’

Gilbert thought he saw Bash smirking out of the corner of his eye but he chose to ignore it as he bounded up the stairs and into the washroom.

The day simply would not die - and the preparation of dinner had left a lot to be desired.

Anne was inescapable – even in his own home, she surrounded him. Cookbooks and carrots and Bash’s constant teasing.

He had never felt so much in one day – for one person -_ Indecent things_!

He remembered the soaring – _wonderful things_.

He couldn’t tell Bash, he couldn’t stand the ribald teasing. 

_Anne, Anne, Anne_ – that’s all he had heard with each chop of the carrot. It was all consuming.

Mary had understood – he had remembered her final piece of advice then.

_Only for love._

He had glanced up at Sebastian, not paying Gilbert any mind – gazing down at Delly – completely infatuated and caught up in his family.

Gilbert had sighed and decided that Bash would have to do.

That had been a mistake – all Gilbert had been able to conjure up while trying to understand Bash’s talk of feelings had been her - dancing and bees and flowers and walks in a magical forest and her hand in his and the swoop in his heart. _Anne, Anne, Anne._

It seemed so close to …

‘Attraction, yes – it’s important – but love … that’s what truly matters … And love is bigger than those … feelings you’re talking about.’

_Those feelings_.

Gilbert did not understand one single thing in the entire world.

_Feelings_ … Anne made him feel … - _he didn’t know!_ Just to hold her hand again would be enough – _dash understanding what he felt!_

‘Does that make sense?’

Gilbert couldn’t stand the thought that what he felt for Anne was anything less than honourable. He couldn’t bear the thought that the wonder he felt while with her could be marred by – by _attraction_. He felt he was somehow muddying up the perfect clarity of their afternoon – darkening it by staring too long.

‘I think so.’

Dinner had been a slightly more comfortable affair – made better by Delly’s gurgling and Bash’s knowing smile, despite the looming, despite the terror …

Bash was joking, Delly was laughing and for these few sunlit moments in the candlelight of their evening meal, Gilbert did not mind that the cause of joy was at his own expense.

Gilbert felt he had gone round the bend, stepped through the glass – and, now ... he reveled in it. _What did anything matter when he had this?_ Anne was still Anne, he was still himself. Bash was still annoying but constant. He had a brother – _a brother!_ No matter the teasing – he still had someone who would ease his way.

_There was nothing else for it_, Gilbert thought, resigned to his fate – he would face the world brightly, feel for Anne what he felt, and – most crucially, help her, despite it. No matter the embarrassment. No matter his own worries over the nobility of his intentions.

It would be ignoble of him to allow her education to go unattended to. That she might … that one day, some gruesome gentleman might come along … and Anne would not _know -_She deserved to face the world as brightly as Gilbert was allowed - to face it and revel in it – to shrug off the pressing shame.

Anne needed the book – putting aside any … _feelings_ – he had a duty to her. As a friend, as someone who cared about her, as someone who wished … -

As a budding medical professional! Yes, that was it - this was an academic matter and he would be remiss in his doctoral pursuits if he were to withhold knowledge from her.

And so he had loped up the stairs on the swell of righteousness and had surveyed the scattered piles of books strewn about his room.

He had loosened his collar as he set about searching. It wasn’t a particularly graphic affair – only detailing the steps to conception in medical terms. There were certain … _diagrams_ … that might shock a more conservative woman but nothing that could be considered … _untoward_.

Really, the entire thing was completely academic – and theoretical! There had been no reason to go stumbling about his room flushing like an idiot – a moke, as Bash would put it.

Only he hadn’t been able to find the blasted thing.

Mounting dread had swelled in him then as he searched ever more frantically but still found nothing. He cursed the chaos with which his fevered searching for more medical knowledge had thrown his room into. By the dying light of the day which still reached into the heights of his room at this hour he had seen himself in the reflection of the window looking positively crazed.

Gilbert groaned and flopped face first onto his bed – _he had probably left it downstairs_ – that thought was enough to make him wish he could crawl inside the covers and be swallowed whole.

He could only hope no one had seen it – not Bash, nor Mrs. Cuthbert, nor – heaven forbid, Mrs. Lynde.

He vaguely heard Bash exclaim as he burst into the drawing room, otherwise paying him no mind as he set about his search, despite still feeling Bash’s curious eyes boring into the back of his head.

_Please be here, please be here_, he begged as he stared up at the rickety old bookshelf, practically bulging, crammed full of books swept up from around the house when Bash and Mary had prepared the downstairs for the arrival of Delphine.

He scanned the titles frantically but to no avail. _Where could it be? _He wondered desperately as he reached the bottom of the case and started to re-scan from the top. He was falling ever deeper into a pit of his own dread.

‘Mind telling me what you doing there, Blythe?’ Bash asked wryly from his position at the corner table of the room, candlelight casting upon his face, making his expression all the more pronounced.

Gilbert groaned. _No_, he thought firmly – _No!_ He couldn’t ask this after today, not today.

‘You having a bad day, Blythe? You acting more like a moke than usual.’

_Oh, come on!_

There was nothing else for it. He had said he would face the world – oh, how he regretted that resolution.

‘Uh –‘ he coughed uncomfortable as he turned to face Bash and was faced with the most sly expression Bash had ever been able to muster up. Oh, it felt like needles drilling into his skin. He attempted flippancy.

‘You haven’t seen a book around here have you?’ He tried to lean back casually against the bookcase but misjudged the distance, stumbling backwards and tripping over his own feet, the effect being to only fluster him further.

Bash gave him the most long-suffering look he had ever received and then glanced pointedly at the bookcase behind Gilbert.

Gilbert was going to jump out of a window – but before he did that, he was going to push Bash first.

‘I know where those books are, Bash,’ Gilbert was so exasperated at this point, already so beyond help that he saw nothing else for it.

‘I’m looking for a book,’ he started brazenly, ‘on … _reproduction?_’ It came out like a question and Gilbert really wished that giving into the ridiculousness of his situation would quell some of the pain of his embarrassment but of course, that wasn’t to be the case.

Bash looked astonished, ‘Gilbert Blythe,’ he said, turning away from the papers set out the table and turning to face Gilbert fully, the candle flickering beside him all the while, drawing out his expression of surprise into something most grotesque. ‘Just what have you been up to today? Surely you know how all that works?’

Gilbert collapsed onto the settee opposite Bash with a huff. ‘Of, course I know how it works, Bash!’

Saying this was evidently a mistake. ‘oh – hoo – hoo do you, now?’ Bash was smiling, completely reveling in Gilbert’s misfortune.

‘Yes, I know how it works!’ Gilbert was indignant – it was like drawing blood from a stone.

Bash just kept smirking, ‘Do you? – then what you be needing this book for?’

Gilbert refused to acknowledge what Bash was implying. He thought he had already reached the very highest peaks and lowest depths that shame had to offer today but to end it all with this conversation with Bash - to have to go through this obfuscation of his attempt at conducting a helpful endeavour – _it was too much!_ He had had enough.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sakes Bash!,’ he exclaimed, ‘it’s for Anne!’

This only made Bash all the more obnoxious, ‘Oh is it, then?’

‘Yes!’ Gilbert replied insistently – he could’t understand why Bash wouldn’t just let it go.

‘We finally having this conversation, Blythe?’

Gilbert knew what Bash was implying – it was hard not to – Bash _always_ implied it. He had seemed to make it his life’s mission to bate Gilbert into admitting …

_No!_ Not tonight – not after today. Not _now_ during this ill-begotten endevour.

‘It’s purely academic, Sebastian,’ Gilbert said, hating how prim he sounded using Bash’s full name but at this moment, he would try anything.

Bash’s smirk abruptly changed into a grimace of confusion. _Yes, finally_ – Gilbert thought – he could get somewhere if Bash just stopped his teasing for one moment.

‘It’s for her education – you see, I was walking home with her today and –‘

At hearing this Bash started smirking again and Gilbert decided his best course of action would be to close his eyes, block out the noxious light of the room and Bash’s smug, infuriating face.

‘Do I need to make sure Delly’s properly sleeping for the next part?’

‘Shut. Up,’ he ground out, he heard Bash chuckling but his theatrics seemed to have gained him Bash’s consideration for the moment.

'I was walking Anne home and –‘ he gritted his teeth, warmth rising up his neck as he remembered the moment himself. Walking so close to Anne only to have her blurt out the question that ripped them so far apart she might as well now be on the moon.

He scrunched his face up and repeated those blasted words.

‘She asked if reproduction was topical.’

Bash was silent. Gilbert wondered if he was experiencing the same sensation that he had – of having a mallet cleave his head in two. Really, he had such a headache by this point he found himself wishing he had got around to harvesting that willow bark.

Gilbert peaked open one eye to glance at Bash – who was still so silent it was beginning to disturb him - but immediately regretted his concern when he saw that Bash was loosing it.

Completely folded in over himself, grin wider than he had ever seen it, cackling so violently that it was silent.

‘This is serious Bash!’ 

He wanted this conversation done, Bash was being no help. ‘She needs to know! Have you seen the book or not?’

Bash managed to draw in some gulping breaths through his cackles and gasped out, ‘Why she need to know – huh?’ Only to dissolve further into ridiculous laughter.

Gilbert was fuming, Bash obviously did not understand the immediacy of the situation, ‘It is for her _education_,’ he insisted.

‘Oh, I bet it is!’ Bash said through peels of laughter, still wheezing, completely bent over for his mirth.

Gilbert gave up, ‘Forget it,’ he told Bash dismally – standing and throwing pillows to the floor. ‘Never mind!’

He turned out of the room and all but ran up the stairs, hastening on the end of this most painful and infuriating day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has been absolutely overwhelming. So much love for all of you who read, and commented and left kudos - it means the world.  
As promised, here is chapter 2.  
I cannot say I am entirely pleased with it - it was much more difficult to write for some reason and I feel that it is not as strong as the first. I apologise but hopefully you all can find some bits enjoyable.  
Until chapter 3!  
<3


	3. Chapter 3

The burning day shone brightly down upon Anne and the Cuthberts as they rolled across Avonlea’s sweeping, red roads. 

PEI lay splendidly about them, the cliffs and the sky and the expansive green - with wind blowing over all of it, sweeping across the island gently on one of the first fine summer days. Anne barely felt any of it. She was much too preoccupied with the other passengers of the buggy.

She had woken late. Very late - as Marilla had commented. Her awful night had only given way to deep exhaustion just as the first glinting light of day shone into her gabled room and she, finally - finally! - fell asleep. Only for Marilla to wake her up not two hours later, shouting that she would have to be up right quick if they were to make it into town. Anne had groaned, face buried in her pillow - wishing more than anything to have had a longer break from her thoughts.

Breakfast had been a quiet affair - with Marilla rushing about, washing pans and searching for baskets, all the while trying to write a list while perching her broken glasses precariously upon her nose. Anne had slumped over the table and tried not to meet her eyes - dreading any mention of the previous night’s affairs. Thankfully, Marilla had seemed far too busy, bustling about preparing for town, to notice any of Anne’s awkwardness. 

It was only when Matthew came into the house - opening the door and letting the sound of birdsong in with him - that Anne had looked up. He shuffled in his usual way - keeping his head down, minding Marilla’s fussing telling him to eat quick and settle up the buggy. As he sat down at the table, Anne had yet to break her gaze from him. She stared up at him so anxiously - waiting for any sign of what he had felt about her display of the previous day.

Oh! How could she have been so careless? - to walk right up to the front of Green Gables, brash as anything, holding a boy’s hand! - paying no mind to who might see all because said boy’s eyes held ever so much romance!

She would never hold Gilbert Blythe's hand again if it would allow her to know that Matthew wasn’t disappointed in her - that he still loved her in the same way that he did before the whole mess of dancing, and twinkling woods, and shining eyes, and warm hands had occurred.

However, Anne had only become more wretched as breakfast went on.

Matthew ate quickly, barely glancing her way. He was just folding some cheese into some bread and pushing the bench back when Anne’s imploring eyes finally found his and he stopped dead. Anne wished she could know what was going through Matthew’s head in that moment - it was as if a screen had been erected before his face and Anne could only see the shadow of what he was thinking. It couldn’t be good - Matthew had ducked his head again and high-tailed it out of the kitchen as quickly as his shuffle would carry him.

Endless mortification! - Anne thought bitterly. That was what lay ahead of her. Nevermind sweeping landscapes and summer fresh air - all she felt was the burning sun, heating her face and putting her right out of her mind as she sat sandwiched between the two people she cared for most in the world - worrying all the way into town.

Pulling into the main thoroughfare, and parking the buggy, Marilla bustled about nervously. Shooing Matthew off in the direction of the shop that sold fertilisers, she turned to Anne - shoving a large basket and an even longer list of supplies at her and worrying at Anne’s shawl for good measure.

‘Now, remember to only buy the best plums - I won’t have old Mr. McCarthy pushing wares on you that won’t do for even the most horrid jam … and be sure to remember the correct baby bottles … and heaven forbid, child, don’t wander about in a daze and forget your vanilla … oh, maybe you should come with me to the oculist … we can go to the grocer’s right after - I suppose it won’t vex Matthew to wait by the buggy awhile … only he did want to be back to check on Belle - and with Jerry not here today …’

‘Marilla,’ Anne said finally, reaching out for her fluttering hand and holding it gently in her own, ‘I am perfectly capable of going to the store by myself.’ She said this firmly and Marilla let out a large huff of air.

‘If that is what you’re truly worried about …’ Anne hinted.

She suspected that Marilla was far more concerned about her own appointment with the oculist than with Anne’s ability to buy vanilla - wandering about in a daze! She would never.

Marilla stood up straighter at Anne’s urging, pulled her hand back, and drew her own shawl up tighter to her chest. ‘What else would I be worried about?’ Marilla asked defensively. ‘Best be off, Anne,’ she said pushing her up the street, before turning away and bustling off in the direction of the oculist. ‘We’re burning daylight!’

Anne couldn’t help but shake her head at Marilla’s antics. It was hard to tell what Marilla truly thought about what had transpired yesterday - she was in such a tizzy already, Anne could probably announce her intentions to become a nun and Marilla’s teeth would still be set on edge, fretting.

A nun! - Oh, what a tragical idea! Anne thought as she wandered across the road towards the grocer. It would be most romantical - to give up love forever and devote herself to a higher calling. Although, she reasoned, she didn’t quite think she would be able to remain as silent as she was supposed to and really, she wasn’t sure all that kneeling really brought one closer to a higher power. Why, she had never even seen a nun venture out into the world and experience all the glorious things on offer! That was surely the way to know the universe - to go out into the wide world and see it!

Just as she was truly becoming enraptured by these most pressing thoughts Anne entered the store and came face to face with something that made her think that maybe the nuns knew more than they were letting on.

Charlie Sloane’s face lit up in a bright smile as he saw her enter the store, immediately walking towards her and offering to hold her basket.

Her first thought was to turn and run out of the store immediately - the ladies tittering in the corner were giving her and Charlie very odd looks. She wanted to scream - to tell them that this was not at all the situation they were supposing. Charlie Sloane - Charlie Groan - the very idea was boring!

‘No, thank you, Charlie,’ she managed to get out primly, turning from his gaze and walking up to the store front. Keeping her eyes intently fixed on the shopkeeper in front of her. ‘I can manage perfectly fine myself.’

But that didn’t stop him from hovering and she suffered through agonising minutes - waiting for Mr. McCarthy to fetch her things, urging him to go more quickly, as he seemed to purposefully be taking a very, very long time.

Charlie smiled down at her all the while, constantly inching closer - forcing her to move away, trying desperately not to let her discomfort show. The ladies' tittering seemed to only grow louder as the minutes ticked on and she stood frozen at the counter. Somehow feeling both burning on her skin and ice in her stomach. 

‘That’ll be a dollar-twenty, Miss,’ Mr. McCarthy finally said, bringing her things to her. She set about getting him the money as quickly as she was able, fumbling with her purse, almost spilling the coins all over the shop floor.

When she had finally extracted the correct amount, she felt Charlie move forward next to her, saying, ‘Here, Anne, let me help you,’ and beginning to pack her things into the basket. 

She was too mortified to stop him and tried to avoid touching his hand as she attempted to fit everything into the basket. Almost there, almost there, she thought, willing time to move faster, towards when she would be out of the shop and away from this dreadful ordeal. 

Only, just as she was packing away the last baby bottle she heard a sound so ominous, so nail-bitingly wretched that she became sure she was still asleep in the most awful nightmare her brain had ever concocted.

‘Why, Anne,’ Mrs. Lynde exclaimed over the bell ringing as she entered the shop, ‘what a surprise to see you here!’

Anne whirled around in terror and saw Mrs. Lynde’s mischievous smile, in the process upsetting the last bottle, which fell to the floor. Charlie caught it just in time. He offered it to Anne and she hastily took it from him, face burning all the while - Mrs. Lynde growing an expression that looked like a cat that had just gotten some very interesting cream.

‘My, what do we have here?’ Mrs. Lynde asked, swanning forwards and gesturing at Charlie, ‘I believe I do sense the possibility of being in the midst of fine, new young couple in Avonlea.’

This was simply too much to bear - the whispers of the ladies in the corner drifted across the room to Anne.

‘Orphan I heard, a good prospect for him, I suppose - she has grown quite comely despite her complexion.’

Anne could not believe it was possible to feel this much shame. She grabbed her things from the counter, ignoring Mr. McCarthy's knowing smile. 

‘You are quite mistaken,’ Anne said to Mrs. Lynde firmly, ‘there is absolutely nothing of that sort going on here!’ she said pointedly, glancing over at the two ladies in the corner. ‘We simply ran into each other - now if you’ll excuse me!’ She pushed past them all, leaving the tremendous mess in her wake - wanting only to get out of that stifling room as soon as possible.

But the warm outside air was to be of no solace as Charlie came running after her. 

‘Anne!’ he shouted, rushing towards her - could he not understand! How could he be so presumptuous? She was not his for the picking simply because she apparently had no one else. Oh, she cursed Mrs. Lynde, and Mr. McCarthy, and Charlie Sloane, and all of Avonlea!

Would she ever live through a day again that wasn’t marred by perfect mortification? 

‘Charlie,’ she said firmly, turning towards him and forcing a smile, ‘thank you ever so much for your offers of help - but I really can manage on my own and would rather prefer it if you did not escort me any further !’ She said the last part rather loudly, and cringed as passers by turned to look. 

Her face burned and her neck hurt looking up at Charlie - really he was far too tall. Apart from anything else, the crick in her neck should be reason enough for never considering him as anything more than an acquaintance. 

She noticed that his smile had finally fallen and was not sorry to say that she delighted, believing that she had finally gotten through to him.

Everything came crashing down again, however, as he mentioned the one person Anne had resolutely avoided thinking about ever since she had woken up this morning. 

‘Is this because of Gilbert Blythe?’

Anne could not bear it - for the millionth time she lamented her own misjudgment. One walk home and this was the price she payed - Marilla fretting, Matthew stony and silent … and Mrs. Lynde walking out of the shop towards them with a look of most intent purpose afixed on her face.

‘Have you two entered some sort of understanding?’ Charlie pressed, looming over her, his eyes looking at her imploringly.

‘An understanding?’ Anne repeated weakly. 

This is what she had avoided thinking about ever since Gilbert's hand had left hers. No matter what she felt - no matter how much comfort was to be found in his grey-green-brown eyes, no matter how much her heart soared even at the mere mention of his name … 

Whatever was between her and Gilbert Blythe could never be described as an understanding.

‘Yes,’ Charlie said, pressing on, unaware of the turmoil in Anne’s own thoughts. ‘I assume that must be the case. I don't want to offend you - but I had to make sure. You haven't been raised in the same way as the other girls. I would hope that you would never be one to engage in such an amorous display without knowing someone's precise intentions.'

‘An amorous display!’ Anne yelled, just as Mrs. Lynde finally came up towards them, Anne’s volume making her stop abruptly.

‘Charlie Sloane,’ Anne ground out, ‘let me make one thing quite clear - no matter what I do, no matter who’s hand I hold, no matter if I run naked through the streets! - it will never - never - be of any concern to you!’

Mrs. Lynde’s mouth was hanging wide open - making her look all the more like a frog waiting to catch a fly. Charlie however only became more concerned at her outburst and moved towards her, reaching for her hand - she moved back quickly glaring up at him, daring him to try anything.

He demured, but pressed on insistently, ‘I worry for your reputation is all - you’re very emotional - it might lead to you engaging in things that you shouldn't ...'

He leered down at her so intently then that she became very aware of what he was implying. He thought she was ... loose. That she had no idea about anything and was completely willing to be taken advantage of. He was implying that she did not know anything at all!

Well, she didn’t know anything - a voice whispered in her head, and tears stung in her eyes as she felt Mrs. Lynde's shocked gaze and Charlie's looming, horrifying presence.

Anger boiled inside her then, stoked by the burning bright sun. No one was allowed to make her feel this way - she had meant what she had said. Whatever romance or reproduction entailed it was her own affair and Charlie Sloane had absolutely no part of it!

Her leg moved of its own accord as the anger welled over and she kicked Charlie right in the shin just as she spotted Matthew hurrying up the way towards her.

* * *

Gilbert let out a sigh of relief as he moved into the blessedly cool house - away from the pressing heat of the sun.

He had spent the morning mending fences outside with Bash - each of them switching off and taking it in turns to check in on baby Delly. She was still sleeping soundly - just as Bash had said - as Gilbert slumped in a chair, taking a few moments away from the blistering heat.

Throughout the morning, he had also used these few moments he had inside as an opportunity to sweep around the house searching for the book but still he had yet to have any luck. It seemed as if the book had vanished right out of existence. 

Perhaps this was a sign - maybe it was far too forwards?

However, he still thought - despite the inherent awkwardness of the situation - that she deserved to know. It didn’t matter that she was a girl! It was a process that took two after all, he blushed.

But … perhaps it was best that the information not come from him.

He groaned and slumped forward on the table. He couldn’t believe himself - he thought he had gotten a handle on his feelings for Anne, had squashed them into a box and labelled it friendship. He had gone to tea with Winifred on multiple occasions and it had never left him feeling this burnt out - but one dance and a walk home with Anne and he was sent reeling - as he had been that first time he saw her.

He sighed - he didn’t know what to do anymore. It was a continual push and pull. Anne stepping towards him and then taking three steps back. He was frustrated and his skin burnt. The day had made him as hot and bothered as last nights mortifying conversation. Sleep had brought no relief. He simply could not unravel his feelings. He cared, he desired, he … he didn’t know how to put all the pieces together!

He wished that her and Marilla were coming to help with Delphine this afternoon but all that he had to look forward to was the prospect of Mrs. Lynde - blustering about and interfering as always.

He would not see Anne again until church tomorrow - he had to stop himself from counting the hours. Church was hardly an appropriate place for his current ruminations - but he wanted to see her. He needed to see her. If he could just look into her eyes again then maybe he could figure it out. 

It was no use! Even if he ever did figure out what he felt - which was looking less and less likely - he would have no idea what to do with the information.

He heard Delphine let out a gurgle from her cradle and pulled himself upright, scraping the chair across the floor and walking towards her.

She smiled up at him sweetly as he leaned down and grasped one of her tiny hands.

He thought focusing on this wonder - his family! - would be enough but as he became more and more unhinged - thought himself in ever diminishing circles - he realised that he needed to sort this out if he were to ever function again.

What was it that Bash had said - “tell her, she won’t talk”

At this point he would try anything.

He picked Delly up out of her cradle, smiling as she let out happy gurgles as he woodshed her up through the air. He returned to the table and sat down with her bouncing on his knee. The sun shining through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. He felt calmer, looking at Delphine - knowing that she, at least, would not judge him.

He sat frozen for a moment - he had no idea where to start. How was he going to put the roiling inside of him into words?

He knew, of course, that Delly probably didn’t care either way - far more concerned with his ability to make funny faces and feed her than his romantical exploits - but he was desperate.

It was such a long story - he didn’t even know how to make sense of it himself. It was winding, and full of stops and starts, and adventures.

‘A story - huh?’ He mused aloud. Delly giggled and gripped onto his hand and he smiled. He would tell her his story and in the process, hopefully, figure out what it all meant - if, indeed, it had any meaning at all.

‘A story about girl with hair the colour of carrots,’ he laughed and Delly let out another gurgle. ‘And a boy who saw her and had to get closer - to know her. He asked if he could slay dragons for her. That was stupid - she was as strong as him in every way.’

He sighed, feeling the ghost on the side of his head where Anne’s slate had hit - the first of many remonitions.

‘She had a temper, and was headstrong, and infuriating - but always the boy was moved to be close to her.’

He remembered coming back on the steamer - having missed his home, but always hoping that coming back would mean seeing Anne. Hoping that her note that had travelled over oceans had meant something more.

‘The girl always took a step back and the boy started wondering if he was doing something wrong - always following her.’

Winifred had turned up at the time just when he was ready to give up all hope of Anne ever letting him be near her. He still wondered if Winifred wasn’t who he should turn to - if he wouldn’t be happier near someone who always wanted to be near him too. ‘Should the boy go off with another - less precious but more certain?’

He felt a clenching vice in his soul. He remembered Anne's startling eyes and the forest walk - no longer chasing after her as he had done the day they had met but holding her hand. Dancing through that wood, on the edge of deciding - as if a bright, white-hot light were scorching away a mark that had stopped him so far. Only for that light to completely shut out, for his brain to lock up, for the ground to come rushing at him as they arrived at Green Gables and she ripped her hand away from his own.

‘What if the boy was left in the yellow wood - what if the girl whirled away, caught up in her own wonderful mind - leaving the boy on the ground … alone.’

He heard a cough from the doorway and startled, almost dropping Delly, as he saw Sebastian standing there, eyes shining like he had never seen them before.

Gilbert hastily got up - cursing his own idiocy. How could he have thought this was a good idea! - to run away and hide inside the kitchen, spinning tales and thoroughly embarrassing himself.

He spun about the room, still holding Delly, completely upended by Bash’s intrusion. Just what had he heard? - he thought desperately - as if last night hadn’t been enough.

Gilbert may as well have left pieces of his soul strewn about the kitchen and Bash had walked in on them - had seen the gruesome tattered mess.

He felt - absurdly - his eyes prickling. He didn’t know if it was shame, if it was terror, if it was heat exhaustion! He had evidently lost his mind.

He stopped turning as Delly let out a cry, shushing her and pulling her closer to his chest, rocking her back and forth - soothing her in a way in which he wished he were still young enough to be soothed.

He looked up and saw Bash still staring at him with that intense gaze - knowing and … something else - pitying!

He felt frantic, ripped apart, shattered.

Then Bash spoke.

‘I - uh, found your book, Blythe.’

Gilbert stopped his whirling again, stuttering to a stop, his mind gone blank - having felt too much to process anything more. Bash dropped the book to the table and it landed with a thud.

‘Really not as interesting as I’d hoped.’

Bash walked towards him slowly, as if afraid he might startle him - huh, Gilbert thought, if only he knew how frozen he felt, stuck to this spot. Every feeling was strewn about the room and he was so caught up in them that he was trapped.

Bash reached him and pulled Delly into his own arms, quieting her in a way that Gilbert had yet to perfect. His arms dropped to his side. He didn’t know what was holding him up any more - shame had burned right through his nerves and he couldn’t feel anything anymore.

‘That conversation yesterday,’ Bash continued, slowly - haltingly, ‘I thought you meant the other thing.’

Still, Gilbert could not bring himself to respond - no matter how imploringly Bash looked at him. It was all he could do to not fall apart right then and there - much less process what Bash was saying - the words only building up and tangling in the already very present confusion.

Bash sighed, putting his hand on a shoulder that Gilbert could not feel. He stared resolutely ahead - refusing to meet Bash’s eyes. 

‘What you feel for this girl - I’m not saying who, we can pretend as much as you want - but we both know.’

Gilbert could only stare, all the feeling suddenly arriving back at once - hurtling him towards the realisation, pushing forwards, inexorably exerting force - slowly lifting the vale.

The door ripped open then - flooding the room with bright light and the smell of the fields and the sounds of the birds - casting all the quiet thoughts and feelings away on the wind of the figure who marched right through, beating steadily the humming drum of reality.

'What are you two young men doing inside on a fine day like this?' Rachel Lynde burst into the room and immediately put her hands on her hips glaring up at Bash and Gilbert.

Delly immediately started crying again.

‘Oh - poor, child!’ Mrs. Lynde exclaimed and she came up to Bash and took Delly from him cooing all the while. ‘What a state I’ve found you both in - nevermind I am here to save the day.’

Gilbert was still squinting at all the light brought into the room, streaming in from the doorway. He hastily turned away from Mrs. Lynde and wiped at his eyes and shuffled his hair - trying, and probably failing - to make himself look more presentable.

Mrs. Lynde was still cooing when he turned around - bustling around the room, somehow balancing Delly on her hip and a laden basket in her hand.

‘I’ve bought the baby bottles - so, don’t you go fretting about needing to get more. Actually it was the Cuthberts who payed for them … I've just seen them in town …’

Gilbert sat down - deciding to get comfortable as he knew he wasn’t likely to be excused for quite some time.

‘Oh, you would not believe the morning I’ve had - I saw young Anne at the grocers … you know I do worry about that child …’

At the mention of Anne’s name, Gilbert immediately looked up - completely ignoring Bash starting to smirk in the corner.

‘She was with that Sloane boy and left him in quite a state, I tell you …’

Gilbert felt a flare of panic - why on earth was Anne in town with Charlie Sloane? He knew, of course, that Charlie had set his sights on her - he remembered the day when it happened, standing so close to Anne with their newspapers, talking about Mary’s obituary.

Mrs. Lynde continued whirling around the kitchen, finally depositing her basket on a chair and sitting down herself, with Delly - still wailing - on her lap. Bash was hovering in the corner - seeming to want to help Delly but far too afraid of Mrs. Lynde’s bluster.

‘A state?’ Gilbert asked finally, as Bash plucked up the courage to come forward and take Delly from Mrs. Lynde.

Mrs. Lynde, hands now free, turned all her attention on Gilbert and he gulped. She seemed to size him up before saying, ‘Yes, quite.’

‘He tried to grab her hand and she kicked him in the knees.’

_Oh, Anne_ \- _glorious, wonderful Anne_. Gilbert thought, trying desperately to not laugh in the face of Mrs. Lynde's disapproval. Only, Gilbert caught Bash’s eye and saw he too was brimming over - the struggle was then lost, and both Bash and Gilbert completely bent over laughing.

‘Oh, _Anne with an E_, that’s my girl.’ Bash said, through insistent chuckles.

Gilbert felt like he couldn’t breathe - Anne didn’t want Charlie, Anne was so strong - how could he worry when she existed in his life.

He and Bash somehow managed to pull themselves together and then all three of them were to be found, sitting at the kitchen table, Delly giggling along in her cradle.

Mrs. Lynde did not approve.

‘I had thought Anne had achieved something - it would be a mighty fine thing for her to snag a catch like a Sloane boy … it’s no laughing matter you two …’ she paused dramatically to glare at them some more and Gilbert tried to school his face into something resembling respectful sobriety - but it was hardly any use, he felt so light.

‘It’s a great shame Anne’s acted in this most indecent way!’ Mrs. Lynde insisted. ‘It’s not likely that she will get many more opportunities - her situation being what it is - she’ll not do much better!’

For some reason, this particular statement set Bash off again.

‘I think I know an alternative!’ Bash exclaimed through peels of laughter, looking at Gilbert significantly and appearing to find what he found there so amusing he bent over cackling again.

Gilbert kicked him under the table.

Bash still didn’t stop laughing.

Gilbert kicked him again. _Harder._

The motion of it bounced the book on the table and Mrs. Lynde’s eyes were drawn to it immediately like a moth to a most scandalous flame.

Gilbert tried to reach out to grab it but Mrs. Lynde was too quick and before he knew it she was opening the book and staring at it’s contents in obvious shock.

The moments ticked by agonisingly in silence as even Bash quieted down - waiting with bated breath for Mrs. Lynde’s judgement.

‘Oh, my!’ Mrs. Lynde exclaimed, ‘simply indecent!’

‘Mrs. Lynde, I can explain …’ Gilbert began desperately, pitching forwards out of his chair.

Mrs. Lynde ignored him and continued reading. Gilbert started to wonder if this many mortifying experiences had an adverse affect on the brain.

‘I suppose this is an appropriate book for a young man such as yourself, Gilbert.’

‘It’s completely academic, Mrs. Lynde, please,’ Gilbert said desperately.

‘Yes, of course, young man - perfectly acceptable in company such as this. A budding doctor, a father, and a woman of my … _experience_.’

Gilbert felt his mouth drop open and Bash started to mime retching behind Mrs. Lynde’s back. _Nope_, he was not going to think about _that._

‘But you would do well to remember the sensibilities of others - heaven forbid this fall into the hands of a young lady - you keep this to yourself young man.’

Mrs. Lynde passed the book over to Gilbert and he snatched it from her, scraping his chair across the floor in his haste to exit the room.

‘Yes, Mrs. Lynde - thank you for the advice!’

Gilbert scrambled out of the room, clutching the book to his chest, hastening towards the stairs - almost making it to freedom before he heard Bash call out behind him.

‘Don’t you forget that, Blythe! Hate to see you corrupting some, poor, innocent young lady!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. 
> 
> Anyone who follows me on tumblr probably saw me losing my mind and knows that 3.06 got me right in the feels. 
> 
> Anyway ... I eventually settled down long enough to write this - I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your lovely comments on the previous chapter - I was really unsure about it but your comments gave me so much more confidence! I really appreciate it you guys.
> 
> Until next time <3


	4. Chapter 4

The sun had just crested over the sky and the afternoon truly began to set in, casting shadows across golden green grass as they rolled through the front gate.

Post was waiting on the doorstep when Anne and the Cuthberts arrived back at Green Gables.

Matthew declined coming inside – preferring instead to shuffle immediately out into the fields with his fertiliser. Anne supposed she couldn’t blame him - after the debacle in town, the mood in the buggy could only be described as tense. 

Nevertheless, she ripped open the post eagerly - it still sent a thrill through her to see her name - “Miss Anne Shirley-Cuthbert” in Cole’s impeccable artist’s hand.

Marilla bustled past her, muttering - obviously still not entirely recovered from the scene she had returned to in town.

Mrs. Rachel Lynde had had a near medical conniption upon seeing Anne’s treatment of Charlie. It was all Matthew could do - in his own, stumbling way - to calm her before she presently boxed Anne’s ears. 

Charlie, for his part, at least knew when he was beaten - almost quite literally in this case - and had scarpered off to his family down a side street. Anne was sure he was set on avoiding her, but Mrs. Lynde’s fussing had also been a helpful and timely deterrent that she would have quite appreciated if it weren’t immediately turned back on her.

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! I never - in all my years! To see a young lady act so _disgracefully_!’

It had appeared as if Mrs. Lynde’s blood was physically boiling inside her - her face scrunched in a most distressing fashion - as she set upon Anne with all of her considerable verve. It was all Anne could do to back away as quickly as the narrow street would allow. She had never considered that someone of Mrs. Lynde’s stature could be particularly threatening but she pressed upon her so insistently Anne felt quite unnerved.

‘Uh … Anne and the - the boy … she should tell - What does she - Anne … what do you have to say?’

It was Matthew's stemming of Mrs. Lynde’s waves of disapproval that helped Anne finally plant her feet firmly on the ground and face the onslaught. 

‘I’m sorry Mrs. Lynde, but Charlie was behaving in a most ungentlemanly manner! What he was implying … I’m sure you would not stand for it yourself had you heard! The thought that he and I … that there could ever possibly be anything between us! It is _preposterous_!’

‘And I suppose kicking someone in the shins is behaving in a manner befitting a lady?’ Mrs. Lynde had countered immediately.

Matthew had watched the exchanged, mouth open, head whipping between the two as they set about beginning a verbal sparring match right in the middle of the street.

_Oh, how Mrs. Lynde vexed her!_She simply would not listen to reason - it appeared as if she would rather focus on Charlie’s assets and eligibility than on their non-existent compatibility! It was of none of Mrs. Lynde’s concern and to meddle in something that, to Anne, felt the most personal and deeply introspective matter of the recesses of her heart - well, it was not to be borne!

This was the scene that Marilla had stumbled upon as she walked up the street towards them, new glasses in a new case clutched in her hand.

‘My word! What on earth has been going on here?’

Mrs. Lynde had been only too happy to tell her.

‘Your Anne has been behaving in a most unsettling manner, Marilla. The poor Sloane boy scarcely knew what hit him - _literally_! She has simply ruined any chance of courtship or matrimony - she’ll be lucky if he so much as speaks to her again after this … _debacle_!’

‘Good!’ Anne shouted right at Mrs. Lynde, not being able to stand her fluster a moment longer.

‘I don’t want to speak to him after what he was implying!’

Marilla, only all too adept at traversing the many disagreements between her charge and Mrs. Lynde had taken one look at Anne's distressed face and quickly sent Mrs. Lynde on her way - reminding her to carry the bottles Anne had bought over to the Blythe-Lacroix house. 

They had exchanged the items with minimal eye-contact and Anne had hurriedly set off down the street towards the buggy, leaving Matthew and Marilla to follow in her wake, ignoring the many staring eyes glancing her way.

Marilla’s mouth had been set in that awful thin-lipped frown ever since.

Anne’s solace was the letter in front of her. Inscribed on delicate cardstock - it was as if a life-raft had sailed over from Charlottetown instead of a letter, reminding Anne that the world was not so small as Avonlea would have her suppose.

_To my dearest darling intended, kindred spirit Anne Shirley-Cuthbert _

_The ache in my chest which only your presence can fulfill has grown to new depths! Anne, you have to visit soon or I fear I shall have to hop another freight and come and kidnap you. _

_Art school is as wonderful as when we last spoke - there is a painting we have been studying called ‘A Dream of Italy’ by Robert Scott Duncanson that I just know would have you writing such a romantical description that I could only ever dream of. Aunt Jo has a plate copy of it - this is just one of the many incentives that I offer in my quest to get you to come to Charlottetown. _

_Another is that Aunt Jo, herself, quite demands it. She says I must not mention it so as not to concern you, but her arthritis has been acting up again and she could use cheering. Please don’t worry too greatly - I don’t think she is in too great pain - but I know your presence would delight her! _

_Do visit as soon as possible - before I grow mad with grief and longing! Or else I request the longest letter yet. I have just had one from Diana and she informed me of the dance practice that was to take place on Friday - I require all the details about this and your involvement with a certain someone (whom I won’t name because I am an angel)! _

_Love, with all my heart, _

_Cole _

_Oh, poor Aunt Josephine!_ Apart from splendidly romantical paintings and her long-lost betroth’d, it was a matter of utmost urgency that she visit her dear kindred spirit.

She glanced at Marilla bustling in the kitchen - fetching flour and bowls, beginning tomorrow’s bread - her lips still thin and a frown on her face.

Anne supposed that if she were tactful Marilla could be persuaded. She would simply have to make her see reason.

She felt Charlottetown calling out to her - Avonlea was becoming stifling. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere without being faced with certain … _feelings_ that she would rather not think on for the moment. 

Stupid Charlie. Stupid Gilbert. Stupid …

_Precise intentions. _

She stoically wiped all thoughts of hand holding and dancing from her mind.

Charlie’s words - apart from being incredibly insulting - had overturned some sense of deep dread within her. No matter how wondrous the soaring of Friday had been, everything had come crashing down to earth and Anne was left facing the reality that Gilbert Blythe would likely never have anything so precise as “intentions” towards her.

Oh, how could she have been so stupid! What indication did she have from him that there ever would be … well, anything – and now Charlie knew and would likely tell everyone. Why did she have to become so caught up that she lost all judgment?

And yet … her heart still thumped in her chest to think of him and she absolutely ached to run away - it was her knee jerk reaction. But Gilbert was likely all the way over at his house, nowhere near Green Gables and yet still, he felt too close. No, she needed space, if only to dispel the nonsensical notions that where whispering around the fog of her thoughts. She needed to get to Charlottetown and Cole and Aunt Jo and _sanity! _\- the sooner, the better.

* * *

Two incidents with two young men in as many days … Marilla was beginning to feel that her nerves would not make it until next week much less until Anne was old enough to actually be through this most trying time and settled - whether that be in career or family or both - Marilla only wished for an end of this … twitterpating!

However, it seemed it was only just begun.

She had spent the entire buggy ride back to Green Gables with her mind whirring, desperately trying to figure what the Sloane boy could have said to make Anne behave in such a way. Matthew had been of no help, silent and stoic as always, and running off to the fields the minute they got back. She was, however, grateful to see that he was nowhere near as concerned as Rachel. She suspected that, as was common practice, his reaction had been far too lenient, while Rachel’s was bordering upon inquisitional levels of overreaction.

Still, it did not sit right with her - Anne had hardly ever been violent, and in the middle of town! Her head gave a twinge just thinking of it. Marilla could only hope that Anne must have had a reason.

It seemed, unlikely, however that she was ever to get an explanation for Anne’s recent behavior as the child had become distracted the minute they walked through the door.

‘Anne, for heaven’s sake, put that letter away and help with your chores - at this rate we’ll still be making dinner tomorrow morning!’

Anne, still seeming deep in thought, begun the dough for tomorrow’s bread. Marilla carefully set all the ingredients out in order, mindful of Anne’s tendency to lose all grasp of reality and baking when preoccupied as she was currently. 

‘_Marilla_,’ Anne began haltingly. That voice - _that tone_ \- it always managed to rattle Marilla to her very core. She closed her eyes and pressed her thumb and forefinger over the bridge of her nose trying - and failing - to stem her headache.

‘Don’t be vexed - I fully comprehend the consequences of my actions - however, consider the idea of a friend in most grievous need …’

Marilla sat down at that, seeing no more point in fighting and resigning herself to listening to whatever mad-capped adventure Anne had managed to think up now.

‘Cole has just informed me,’ Anne said, waving the letter as if it were the primary evidence in a grand trial, ‘that dearest Aunt Josephine is experiencing a most dreadful case of arthritis and that it is my duty - as a loving, kindred spirit - to travel most urgently to Charlottetown and endeavor to relieve some of her most tragical pain in anyway I can!’

Anne was still waving the letter and had drawn her forehead together, eyes seeming to grow twice in size - overall creating such a pitiable expression that Marilla could only drop her head in her hands and huff as Anne’s waving upset the flour and wafted it about the table.

Anne, herself, paid no mind to this and stood with pleading eyes boring into the side of Marilla’s head.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake child! You know I could not possibly allow you to go …’

‘But Marilla -’ Anne began at once.

Marilla turned towards her and held up her hand, ‘I will not hear of it - there’s church tomorrow and you have school all week - and even if that weren’t the case, there is no one to chaperone you!’

Anne started again but Marilla hurriedly continued, ‘Don’t try to argue, after today's … _incident_ you’ve proven that you need one! Perhaps next weekend, once things have calmed down, we can reconsider. I’m sure Gilbert and Bash would not mind taking you.’

Marilla thought these final words would quell Anne’s fervered insistence - at least for a few days - but the minute she mentioned Gilbert’s name, Anne’s cheeks flamed and Marilla was reminded of the other incident that had occurred only yesterday and that she had done everything in her power to avoid thinking of since.

Anne dropped Marilla’s gaze immediately and set about kneading the dough - far more violently than was probably necessary. Marilla could only watch, trying desperately to figure out what to say. _What was one to do in the face of all this?_She felt her expression pulling into a horrible grimace as she tried to find one word with which to combat this monstrous situation.

‘I am quite done with boys!’ Anne announced, as she wacked the dough onto the table, punching into it insistently.

Marilla knew, now, that something would have to be done. Gilbert seemed the most pressing but also the most complicated of the two instances - and as far as she could tell he had behaved honorably. The Sloane boy on the other hand …

‘Anne,’ Marilla said, more gently now, aware that if the past two days had been harrowing for herself then it was likely no match to what Anne had gone through. ‘Just what happened? … today, in town, I mean. What could have that boy possibly said to make you react with violence?’

Anne stilled then and Marilla could see her sway a bit where she stood. _Not good. _She took a deep, steadying breath and then reached a hand out to Anne’s shoulder. 

Anne looked up at the touch and Marilla was surprised to see the shining in her eyes and the rage set on her face.

‘He really is a most odious boy,’ Anne said, through gritted teeth, ‘he implied that Gil and I -’ Anne blushed profusely and looked down again. Marilla wished she could see inside Anne’s head. Her usually loquacious charge was now being as silent as the grave.

Anne shook herself and pummeled the bread again. ‘Charlie Sloane implied that I was acting inappropriately and would give the young men of Avonlea the wrong … _impression_.’

Marilla felt her eyebrows raise to obscene heights on her forehead. _Just what had Anne been getting up to?_

Anne quickly saw Marilla’s horrified expression and hurried to explain.

‘Not that I am doing anything wrong! He’s just mad because I ignored his take notice and walked home with Gil- ‘

Anne cut herself off again. Her face was flaming red - redder even than her hair - if that were even possible. Anne pummeled the dough again and Marilla decided that caution was the best course of action.

‘Take notice?’

Anne gave her a look so scorchingly fed up that Marilla almost flinched.

‘A ridiculous notion set out by Josie Pye! _In advance of a proper advance_…’ She punctuated each word with a punch into the dough.

Marilla was trying to understand. _Truly_. But she could not account for Anne’s anger any more than she could the mystifying events that had transpired these past two days.

‘You know,’ Anne went on, ‘it really is most ironic - all the girls love that infernal board – tittering on about it for months! And yet … they don’t know the first thing about what it actually implies … _topical! I tell you! _Is it any wonder that a boy like Charlie can go about casting such … grievous aspersions - it’s slander! But is it any wonder he can get away with it when no one knows the first thing about what courting actually entails!’ She picked up all the dough and dropped it down upon the table in one fell move, punctuating her words with a thud.

Marilla tried to interject but Anne had built herself up into such a righteous fluster that it was all she could do to listen and try to make sense of the tirade - while dodging the flour that was spewing up from the sorely mistreated bread dough.

‘I can only hope Gil remembers to bring me that book - information is power after all! I’m sure once I’ve read it I will have a much firmer grasp on all this! _Inappropriate behaviour! _I’ll show him inappropriate behaviour - I vow now, in fact, to become a qualified expert on the topic!’

_Book? What book? Why was Gilbert bringing Anne a book?_ Marilla supposed it wasn’t unheard of behaviour … but what topic was there that Gilbert knew more about than Anne? They were so evenly matched after all - it was one of the reasons why she felt comfortable with their growing closeness - she knew Anne could hold her own. They were a pair of equals if there ever were some.

Marilla supposed Gilbert did have more medical knowledge but she was at a loss as to what that would have to with inappropriate behaviour …

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

‘Anne, what book?’

Anne froze in place. Eyes darting about - appearing to all intents and purposes to be caught red-handed.

Marilla fixed her glare on Anne. In her own, humble opinion, her glare was her best feature and she had always been well attuned to its uses.

In any case, Anne certainly found it effective and hurriedly tried to explain.

‘It’s purely academic! For research purposes _only_ \- really it’s only fair, Marilla!’

_Academic … fiddlesticks!_ Anne loved learning but nothing had ever made her positively set aflame and become so flustered.

‘What book Anne?’ Marilla insisted firmly and Anne could only drop her head and refuse to meet her eyes as she whispered.

‘Reproductive anatomy.’

…

Marilla was going to skin Gilbert Blythe alive. 

_Really,_ she thought John Blythe had raised his son better! 

No, that was unkind ... John had always been the perfect gentleman and likely his only crime was dying too young to properly educate Gilbert on matters of propriety.

No, likely it was Gilbert’s own interest in the medical field and his time on that god forsaken steamer that had completely blinded him to what was or wasn’t appropriate. 

For the first time ever, Marilla began to worry about Gilbert. She was certain he had no nefarious intentions however … Anne was so young and he, two years older - and obviously experiencing an extreme lack of judgement.

It was too much, too soon for Anne. _She was still a child!_ Yet a stranger to this world …

And to think … _heaven forbid_ … if word got around that Anne had this book, that she knew more than was permitted … well …

Marilla was reminded of the pet mouse.

Anne had already been exposed to so much. It was Marilla's greatest achievement and joy to have created a world within which Anne could live - safe from such trauma. A world in which Anne could remain a child for a while longer.

She would not have an infatuation and a misjudgement on the part of a young man - however well intentioned he may be - to encroach upon Anne’s safety! 

Gilbert likely did not understand - and Anne herself didn’t either, although she had felt the affects - what a scandal this could cause and how it could utterly ruin a girl like Anne, who was already under so much suspicion.

This was no longer a matter of youthful folly. _This was Anne’s very future._

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I forbid you from reading that book.’

Anne’s head whipped up at these words, and as expected, immediately fought against them.

‘_Why?_ Why shouldn’t I? Don’t I deserve to know as much as Gilbert?’

‘Gilbert’s older!’ Marilla shouted, realising her volume too late. She needed Anne to understand - _desperately_.

‘I will not have an argument from you, Anne.’ She stated, in what she hoped was a more measured tone. ‘It is not a subject that you have the luxury of dabbling in - it is far more serious and complex than I think you realise.’

‘I am not a child, Marilla!’ 

Anne was obviously not concerned with her own volume and so Marilla didn’t bother either.

‘_That’s not the point, Anne!_ Woman or child - to partake in such things is considered indecent. You don’t know what it could cost you!’

‘It’s already costing me!’ Anne all but screamed back at her. ‘Why should the boys know more? Why should they have all the power? How am I to know what is or isn’t decent if I don’t even know anything?’

‘_Enough!_’ Marilla bellowed, feeling her entire frame shake with the power of it. ‘I will hear no more of this Anne. You are young yet, and I am your gaurdian - it is my job to protect you ... to tell you what is or isn’t decent ... until you’re older!’

Anne stepped back at these words. For the first time, her expression broke through Marilla’s panic and she saw the absolute sorrow etched across it. Anne’s eyes were screwed up and her mouth set in a most pained expression. 

Marilla’s chest ached. She didn’t know what to do. All she knew - all she had ever known - was the constant effort of upholding decency. It was the currency she traded upon. She didn’t know what the future held for Anne - whether it be marriage or education. Either way, all Marilla could see, was that the safest route through life was one with a reputation intact. 

Tears were truly flowing now from Anne. Her hands were balled into fists. 

In a deadly silent voice she said, ‘I need you to understand.’

_Understand_. Marilla was floundering. _What did she understand, in reality, about any of this? _

‘Well, I don’t.’

* * *

The sun was glaring as Anne squinted at Marilla’s figure, marching at a furious pace, across the fields towards the church. 

The world seemed too bright that morning. Anne still in a positive daze since last nights disastrous ordeal. Her eyes protested at the sun and her head pounded - feeling full of cotton. She squeezed Matthew’s arm as he walked beside her - not knowing anymore who was supporting who. He patted her hand softly, despite the grimace that had been set upon his face since he had come in for supper last night and witnessed the sorry state of affairs. He, at least, didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the various ordeals that had conspired against her since Friday. 

No, he was mostly concerned at the distance apparent between her and Marilla. There was such an obvious, pressing hostility that Anne was sure that the only reason Matthew - quiet, lonesome Matthew - was accompanying them both to church was because he thought that if he let the two of them go alone, only one would return.

Considering Marilla’s fury, Anne tended to agree with him.

She couldn’t so much as look at Marilla without wanting to scream!

There was such a roiling in her soul that as the birds twittered in the trees she felt she really could sprout wings and fly away with them - stopping only to peck at Marilla.

_ Decency. _

She scoffed. How could Marilla not understand. It was just another word to make small-minded people act even smaller. The world was made for big things - big actions and thoughts and ideas - and she fully intended to partake in it.

Her disastrous conversation with Marilla had only strengthened this resolve. She would not spend her life worrying about something as ill-begotten as her reputation. _No matter her fate, she would not allow herself to be scared into ignorance!_

Couldn’t Marilla see that the way through confusion was through knowledge. It was the balm for all things - _to know something_ \- that was what gifted you agency. Respectability only pretended at it. No, if Anne ever wanted to do anything in this world she would need to be informed of it. 

It was with this resolve that she held her head up high as she walked into church right on Marilla’s heels and immediately felt his gaze latch onto her.

The bustle of the church, the beams of light, the splendour of the Sunday morning - it all converged together into one pin prick and warmth flooded her as she remembered the feelings that set all these mortifying affairs into motion.

Before Friday, the thought of Gilbert Blythe looking at her would have made her skin itch and her stomach roil. Him looking at her, like that, in church, would have sent her spiraling into a tizzy. 

In some ways, it still did. However, today, with the glorious warmth of sunlight beneath her wings, all she wanted was to stare right back. 

She knew now. She knew how warm those eyes were. She knew their specks of colour. She knew and so she could not shy away. 

In a dappled yellow wood, his warm hand in hers - that was the last time she had felt tethered. 

Since, there had been no end to hostillity - prickly and uncertain. 

It was miraculous - here was someone she _knew!_ Someone lovely - a comfort. Someone who did not judge her for daring to ask.

In the split second their eyes met Anne realised that Gilbert Blythe was one of her most treasured friends.

And then, just as soon as she was caught up in his eyes, she was released when confusion flashed across his face and he looked over to her left.

Anne turned sharply and groaned. 

Marilla’s patented glare was turned directly upon Gilbert. 

She let go of Matthew’s arm then, turning completely from Gilbert, and gripped onto Marilla's hand, steering her into their pew. 

She gripped tightly, the only thing stopping her from snapping at Marilla in the middle of church. 

Anne’s anger boiled as she slumped into her seat at the end of the pew and stared straight in front of her. This was going to be the longest church service of her life. 

_ What use was it that Gilbert made her feel sane when the price was judgment from all sides? _

_Decency_. She could pretend at it - she would try. If only to be given enough space to circumvent it entirley.  
  


* * *

As Gilbert sat in his usual pew, waiting for the church service to begin, he couldn’t help imagining that the book he had stowed away in his jacket would act as a pretty good target for the almighty’s wrath.

He knew it was an idiotic notion - to bring something so obviously not … _decent_ to a church of all places. 

His only defence was that he had been distracted … so terribly, terribly distracted.

He would be seeing Anne again today and his heart had been thumping in his chest from anticipation since early morning.

He’d waded through the shafts of light that lit up the house in the early morning - positively frantic and annoying Bash to no end.

He could scarcely help it. It felt like an age had passed since he had last seen her and the soaring that he remembered feeling only propelled him into such reckless behaviour all the more.

It was all he could do to avoid Bash’s curious, subtly smirking gaze, as he paced along the front porch - impatient for the appropriate hour in which to head to church. The sun had seemed to taunt him, rising slower and slower the more he looked, the more he paced. 

He had kept the book close on hand since Mrs. Lynde had spotted it yesterday and had stowed it away in his suit jacket - away from Bash’s prying eyes.

As a result of his own impatience, he was uncommonly early to church and sat in his usual pew staring up at the altar with nothing to do but overthink his intentions.

He was idiotic. It was a Sunday morning. He was in a church. At a service the entire town attended - _why on earth had he bought a medical textbook on reproductive anatomy along in his pocket?_

He felt the wieght of it pressing against his chest and resigned himself to using the service to send up a multitude of pleas for forgiveness.

_What had he been thinking?_ He and Anne hardly had time to so much as send each other a passing smile each Sunday - how did he think today would be any different?

Still … he could not for the life of him think of a time where they were not surrounded by prying eyes. He supposed he would just have to carry the infernal thing around until he found an opportunity to visit Green Gables and could deliver it to her when she would be able to hide it immediately.

He leant his head back on the pew and let out a huff of air, closing his eyes - blocking out the sharp eyes of the reverend at the front of the church. _Why did he think this was a good idea?_

He was startled out of this sympathetic reverie by Miss Stacy sitting down next to him.

He forced himself to straighten up immediately, and smiled politely at her - hoping that his expression wasn’t too strained. The book slipped slightly in his jacket as he moved and he awkwardly adjusted it, feeling as if it had grown a mind of its own and was intent upon being found out.

He supposed that Miss Stacy would be sympathetic to his cause. She was a godsend in a town as small as Avonlea - always looking forwards, without judgment - and would be the first to defend the right to information - of all kinds. However, Gilbert would prefer not having occasion to discover if his suspicions were correct.

He shook himself and forced himself to engage Miss Stacy in the relatively safe topic of the school newspaper.

He was, actually, particularly looking forward to this copy. Ruby had surprised them all by writing a surprisingly lovely short story about a musician named Roody.

_Ruby_, who had always appeared so quiet, had suddenly become a force to be reckoned with on the paper. She credited her success to the practice she had with Diana and Anne.

Gilbert remembered, vividly, the way Anne’s eyes had shone at that.

That was the Anne he had so sorely missed these past two days. Not some vague concept of a young woman but Anne - brilliant, passionate Anne - who, when faced with the success of Ruby, lit up for all to see and burned so bright it was impossible to look away.

Gilbert realised he had quite dropped the thread of conversation with Miss Stacy but he was quite unable to pick it up again as, right at that moment, the subject of his thoughts walked down the aisle.

He took a deep breath and for once it felt like his lungs had enough air. He felt his lips twitch immediately into a wide grin and he forgot everything that had made him so agitated in the first place.

Anne was here and Gilbert was happy.

Then she turned around to meet his gaze and he was euphoric.

Nothing and everything had changed. He felt it all at once and could not help his eyes be drawn to her - but she looked right back and everything felt calm.

For a split second, her eyes were as they were while dancing, while twirling through a yellow wood, while holding his hand.

Then, in the next, he felt another set of eyes boring into the side of his head and he turned to see Marilla looking at him with an expression that made him want to dig his own grave.

He didn’t know how, but she knew - _everything_. About the dancing, and the walking, and the book, and every thought he had ever had. 

He felt himself sinking down into the pew, the book burning against his chest once again.

Absurdly, all he could think to do was raise his hand and wave at Marilla.

All he got in return was a huff as she was pulled to the front of the church by an indignant Anne.

He felt his entire face twist up into a ball of raised eyebrows and confusion.

He assumed this grotesque expression only became deeper as Matthew Cuthbert walked by and patted him on the shoulder. 

He almost jumped out of his own skin.

Matthew, himself, looked as uncomfortable as Gilbert felt and they both could only stare at each other for a few moments before Matthew nodded and shuffled off down the aisle.

Gilbert could only sit frozen and stare straight ahead.

The church was mostly full by the time he shook himself and focused on the reverend up front. The birds were chirping outside, cacophanously mixing with the bustle of the churchgoers. Everything seemed very bright all of a sudden. 

He pointedly ignored Mrs. Lynde’s look as she passed by on her way to sit by the Cuthberts. She seemed, today, to be giving off the impression of some sort of omnipresent god - with the power to create either heaven or hell depending on how she found him lacking.

He almost let out a yelp when he felt Miss Stacy’s hand come to rest on his shoulder - having forgotten about her presence entirely. He weakly returned her kind smile and then faced the reverend again - who was finally beginning his opening sermon. 

He resolved to use this church service to ask for any forgiveness he was owed.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated this week. My sister was in hospital (nothing to worry about, she's fine now - but stressful nonetheless!). So I haven't had time to write until this weekend.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. I am honestly not sure whether this chapter is up to par but I am about to go watch the new episode now and thought it best to get something out. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for such a lovely and positive response to this fic! Your comments and kudos have seriously made my week bearable.
> 
> <3


	5. Chapter 5

Acting within the realm of propriety was far more difficult than Anne anticipated.

The church was scorching - both from the beams of coloured light shining through the stained glass windows and from the insistent feeling of eyes fixed upon her from all sides.

Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, staring straight ahead and valiantly attempting to focus on the sermon - instead of her fancy of drifting out the doorway and away with the clouds. Out into the splendid summer day, not stuck in this stifling hot house where she couldn’t enjoy it.

Of course, on today of all days, the reverend seemed to know exactly how frustrated she was and was endeavouring to be as moralising as possible.

That man could drone on like no other - completely monotonous but also impossible to ignore - a voice that grated and eyes that pinned you to your seat. He was well-suited to his profession but Anne could not find anything but resentment for him today.

Mrs. Lynde, in addition, nodded along to everything he drawled out - fervently sitting on the edge of the pew, all the better to be able to lean over and stare at Anne during parts she found particularly salient.

Anne felt, in fact, that she was indeed acting out her Christian duty of forgiveness and compassion as she resisted meeting Mrs. Lynde’s gaze and sticking out her tongue.

All this pecked insistently at her but was of little consequence compared to the two other sets of eyes that she refused to think about. One pair sitting right next to Mrs. Lynde and the other at the back of the church - somehow the most burning and insistent despite the distance.

The only balm was dearest Diana, sitting across the aisle - dutifully attending to the sermon - but, nonetheless, quelling the storm inside of Anne who knew that, once through this ordeal, she would have her bosom friend to talk to.

She hadn’t seen Diana since Friday and was keenly feeling their separation. 118 days to go and Anne intended upon making full use of them. Diana had always felt like Anne's one and only source of sanity.

Thus, it was with a great soaring of her heart that when the hymn books were opened for the final time, and the reverend began his lowing of the final hymn - Anne snuck down the side aisle and straight out the church door, picking up a pile of newspapers on the way out.

Diana and her met at the entrance and Anne grabbed her hand insistently - glad, finally, to be with her kindred spirit.

This relief, however, did not last long as Anne’s brief reprieve was interrupted by the other girls and their dogged insistence on continuing the conversation from Friday.

She was bombarded almost immediately - all of them still intent upon puzzling out Miss Stacy’s confusing words.

‘What did she mean by ‘steps to consent’?’

‘Perhaps it has to do with being escorted home?’

Tilly’s words made Anne’s ears burn, but she smiled politely at Mrs. Kincanan as she handed her a copy of the Avonlea Gazette

‘Walking home? But there’s no touching!’

Anne felt her face flame at Diana’s words. Of course, she knew Tilly’s idea was utter tosh but that didn’t make her own experience with walking home any less pressing. 

_No touching …_

‘Unless there’s rough ground.’

Was there any rough ground on the path from the school house to Green Gables? Anne couldn’t recall - last time she had walked it she had been preoccupied. In her experience, however, walking home did indeed involve touching, rough ground or no. Holding a strong, warm hand in her own - bold as anything - smiling all the while. 

She remembered how normal it had felt - it didn’t seem to warrant all the fuss that was continually kicked up around it. However, she would sooner walk home with Charlie than tell the other girls about it - it seemed a delicate, wonderful thing - simple and certain but liable to be completely marred if brought out of the cover of the twinkling woods.

She resolutely stared ahead, pleasant smile afixed on her face, content to listen to speculation until she had gathered enough knowledge to combat the misinformation evidently running rampant throughout the youth of Avonlea.

This thought was naive, as it turned out that there was, in fact, no point in trying to make it through the discussion unnoticed.

‘Why doesn’t Anne clear it up for us?’ 

Josie Pye’s voice rung out, crisp and clear, like ice being dropped over Anne’s head. 

‘I presume you must know about the topic - after all, did we or did we not all see you being escorted home by Gilbert Blythe?’

Anne felt quite faint - a great rushing starting up in her ears as all of the girls turned to her, eyes as wide as saucers.

So much for the cover of the woods - here was that simple and certain thing being thrust out into the world, far too many eyes upon it - draining away the comforting dappled light and scorching through whatever walls she had built up around the subject.

She could only stutter, completely ignoring the church goers walking past reaching out for a newspaper. All she could think to do was to correct the semantics.

‘Gilbert didn’t _escort _me – we simply walked home together …’

She’d never seen Jane roll her eyes quite that aggressively. In fact, all the girls were looking at her most skeptically - even dear Diana had raised her eyebrow, grinning wide at Anne’s fluster.

Anne could only gape -_was it not possible to do anything in this town without someone noticing?_

She was so completely and wholeheartedly unprepared to discuss this with anyone - she had hardly dared to entertain the prospect to herself! And now five of her classmates were staring at her, waiting for answers that she didn’t have.

‘Well, I for one am pleased for you.’

Anne almost cracked her neck, whipping her head around so fast to stare, perplexed, at Ruby.

‘He should feel free to move on now that I am unavailable!’ Ruby explained, as Anne continued to gape at her.

‘What about his eyes being so full of romance?’ Anne exclaimed as everyone watched her and Ruby intently.

‘Oh, nonsense Anne – that was obviously directed at you. I wish you all the best – he is, after all, tragically handsome – but he would never write you a song …’

‘Ugh,’ Jane’s groan interrupted Anne’s reeling – Ruby Gillis just gave her blessing (not that there was anything to bless) - Anne wasn’t sure what to think any longer. The entire world had gone mad.

‘Ruby we all know how much you like Moody – we’re handing out the paper with your ode to him in it!’ Jane groaned, hand on her hip, scowl fixed on her face.

‘Well, if Anne says walking home has nothing to do with it then what does?’ Tilly asked, still perplexed and evidently determined to attain answers. ‘Is it like animal husbandry?

‘That’s disgusting, we’re not filthy animals!’

The conversation was rapidly devolving.

‘Enough!’ Anne shouted. ‘Considering the events I can only assume that we have been purposefully mislead! It’s preposterous! We deserve a straight answer – and I, for one, intend to get one!’

All the girls looked at her skeptically – Tilly especially, had her mouth hanging open in a perfect “o”.

‘Whatever do you mean Anne?’ Diana asked hurriedly. ‘You can’t be implying –‘

‘Well, obviously she is,’ Josie interrupted scathingly, ‘if she’s set her sights on Gilbert then she’ll obviously find out from him soon enough.’

Anne recognized her mistake immediately. She wanted the ground to open below her and swallow her whole. They thought she had meant … that she and Gilbert … they most certainly weren’t picturing academic research occurring.

She scrambled to correct them – ‘That is not what I meant! That is not at all what is happening between us!’

This statement was only met with raised eyebrows and smirks – even Diana had arched an eyebrow and was smiling bemusedly at Anne.

‘So you do admit it then, Anne,’ Diana said slyly, ‘that there is something, at least, going on?’

_Were they all being purposefully obtuse? _Was it not enough to have to suffer through these ridiculous aspersions – now one of her dearest friendships was under speculation! Never mind the inquisition that it had been put under by her own mind – the entire affair had now been poked and prodded until it was likely ready to rear back from the bating and become monstrous.

How was Anne to explain – _her and Gilbert_ – how could that be scandalous?

Simple and certain - that was what it was – but only between the two of them, only when he was at her side. She couldn’t make them see - not now, when they insisted upon relentless prying.

Everything just kept getting worse.

‘Well, I for one think Anne must learn as much as she can,’ Jane said, smirking, ‘Gilbert is older, and studying to be a doctor – he probably knows everything …’

The girls all burst into giggles and Anne’s cheeks only flamed all the more brighter as Ruby exclaimed, hysterically.

‘What. Has. He. _Seen_?’

What had he seen?

Anne felt like her entire body was being scorched. Of course, she knew Gilbert _knew _– but that awareness had always been out of context. Theoretical.

Now – the idea that he might … that she might … It was enough to knock the breath right out of her. Her mouth became dry and she couldn’t speak. Whatever was happening felt akin to being possessed.

His hand brushing against hers – like striking a match.

‘Hello, ladies.’

And there he was – walking right up to the six of them, cap perched jauntily, eyebrows drawn up. Tall and handsome – the picture of a young man – like a hero in a novel.

_What a splendid chin he has._

‘May I talk to Anne please?’

This only served to send up a riot of laughter. All the girls moving forwards, pressing Anne up between them, setting upon Gilbert so intently that it was enough to make him take a step back.

_His chin scrunches a little when he gets confused_, Anne thought.

She had completely zoned out – not hearing a word around her – only staring up, up, up at Gilbert.

The girls deposited her in front of him and she looked up into his eyes – but the worry there was enough to snap her out of whatever daze had overcome her.

He looked terribly uncomfortable – no longer some suave young man – but Gilbert, faced with six of his classmates, all looking him up and down as if he were something to eat.

Anne shook herself and nodded up at Gilbert, ‘Yes?’

She saw him look around uncertainly at the others – eyebrows drawing further together if that were even possible.

‘Uh … may I speak with you? _Alone_.’ He said, emphasizing the last word.

At his words the girls let out an almighty burst of laughter. Gilbert looked ready to run away. _That was the final straw!_

Anne grabbed Gilbert's hand unceremoniously and dragged him behind the church.

Tilly’s loud, unsubtle, ‘Oh my!’ was the last thing she heard.

* * *

Anne was holding his hand and dragging him behind a church.

Really, Gilbert shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but the shock of her hand in his again had, frankly, pushed rational thought far out of his mind.

He had spent the entire church service staring at the back of her head. He did not hear a single word of the sermon - all he could focus on was the rainbow light shining through the church windows onto her hair. 

That second of eye contact - of staring into the grey-blue of her eyes - had pushed him all the way back in time to the two other instances where Anne had seemed to become a veritable spectral display in a church. 

Both other times at weddings … for all that he spent an entire service focusing on Anne, he would not allow himself to focus on that.

Miss Stacy’s pitying looks at his confrontation with Marilla had rapidly evolved into a smirk. Gilbert was sure that she likely had only payed half-attention to the poor reverand as well. Miss Stacy was far too preoccupied amusing herself with the greek tragedy currently playing out in front of her.

And it really was - the theatre of Aristophanes had nothing on the farcical romp his life had turned into, where tragedy must surely be the end.

But if all the world was a stage, then he was merely a player - and his script said look ahead and do not, under any circumstances, bring knowledge and feelings into the equation.

However, Anne always seemed like possibility - if anyone could write a better script than life itself it was her.

One second of eye contact, an hour of burning shame - and Gilbert decided right then and there that he would seek Anne out after the service. 

This resolve was inevitably tested as the final hymn was sung and he watched Anne dart out of doors with Diana on her heels.

Of course, all the girls on the newspaper where planning to pass it around after the service.

They would all be there - _looking._

He had never been one to be particularly caught up in the small town gossip that ran rampant about the schoolroom - however, he had felt himself becoming even more withdrawn after he had returned with Bash, and then even more when he, himself, had started becoming the topic of such gossip more and more.

Maybe, if he were subtle, Anne would understand and there would be minimal complications?

No great deity was listening to this hope.

He had smiled politely at Miss Stacy - bless her, for realising his hurry - and she had sent him on his way, only for him to be rounded on by Mrs. Lynde.

‘Nope,’ he had said brashly - completely forgetting anything other than his complete unwillingness to engage with her.

Fortunately, his lack of decorum so shocked her that he was able to make a hasty escape.

He all but pushed his way out of the church - nodding politely back at everyone greeting him in the throng.

Old Mr. Kincanan put up a good effort of derailing him - talking his ear off about the state of his fruit crop. Gilbert only nodded along - tipping his hat to indicate that the conversation was over just as he stepped out into the bright sunshine of the day.

  
  


Anne had looked ghostly pale, surrounded by the other girls - who set to whispering frantically as he walked towards them.

Het set his jaw and took a deep breath - desperately trying not to run in the opposite direction. The book bumped against his chest as he come to a stop on the steps.

The girls had all pushed Anne towards him and then stared up at him with most disturbing expressions set upon their faces - even Diana was smiling wryly. He gulped.

He had been worried about Anne - she hadn’t said anything, only staring up at him with an expression that he had never seen before. It was unlike the other instances of their eyes meeting - now, she seemed to have retreated back into herself, but something was moving behind the veil.

Next thing he knew, she was holding his hand and he was standing facing her, with the church behind his back. The edge of the tree-line jutting up against the shadowed natural alcove where they stood. 

The forest walk seemed so close now - the twinkling light and Anne’s warm hand - for once, real and certain.

He was so focused on the contact with her - _finally_, here she was in front of him again and it felt like he was soaring again. No longer bogged down - now up high enough to take a breath.

‘Morning,’ he breathed, swinging their hands slightly and looking into those large eyes.

Anne, although so close, seemed far away - all the while staring intently up at his face. She seemed to be … searching, for something - he did not know what.

‘Morning,’ she echoed, still staring dreamily.

He felt himself getting caught up in her - the tendrils of sunlight coming through the trees and bouncing off her hair - trapping him completely.

She was squeezing his hand so tightly. All was quiet. Just breaths and staring. She looked otherworldly.

Then she took a step back and the spell was broken.

‘Uh …’ she coughed, ‘why did you want to speak with me?’

Gilbert flinched - letting go of her hand immediately as it all came rushing back.

He fumbled with his jacket as he retrieved the book.

He held it in his hand and stared at the cover - a nondescript blue, with pale lettering - perfectly respectible if it weren’t for what the letters spelled out: _Reproductive Anatomy_.

‘I - uh - Well, I bought you the book …’

It was agony - she didn’t say a word for many moments, only staring down at the offering in his hands - and all the while the roiling in his stomach built and built threatening to crash into a creschendo at any moment.

Then she reached her hand out tentatively to touch the book and in the process her hand brushed against his.

The anxiety burst through him, ‘I hope it helps … I - uh - I mean, I hope you learn …’

He was really bungling it. Her eyes darted up to meet his and he could only sigh at the smirk slowly coming over her face.

He said the first thought that came into his head.

‘Fair and square?’

Her face broke out into such a smile then and the world settled again as she carefully took the book from him and clutched it to her chest. He answered her smile and felt calm again.

There. Simple. Nothing more than a scholarly exchange of information between friends.

Then Anne started laughing and the trees were lit up behind her, dust glinting in the morning light - and she was so beautiful but also, for the first time he realised, so real.

Her laughs only got louder as she exclaimed, ‘You brought this to church?’

The ridiculous of it all - which had been sparking up complete and unutterable terror all morning - suddenly became something so light. The relief of Anne - always so sure - allowed him to finally move past all the dread and shame.

This was why he loved her - the world could never stop her. She would find a way past any obstacle - no matter how ridiculous - and she would laugh in the face of it.

All Gilbert wanted was to be there to see it happen.

_ Wait … _

_What? _

‘Anne!’ Diana was rushing towards them, frantically holding her hat on top of her head to keep it from flying away.

Anne abruptly stopped laughing, whipping her head around towards Diana. 

Gilbert could only lean back against the church. The smile would not leave his face, even as Diana shouted, ‘Marilla’s just come out the church! She’s looking for you, Anne!’

Anne glanced back at Gilbert who was still leaning dazedly against the church, completely oblivious the utter terror on her face.

‘Gilbert!’ she hissed as Diana came to a stop just a ways away from them, face scrunched into worry.

‘Anne,’ Gilbert repeated, smiling down at her.

She rolled her eyes at him and dragged him away from the wall and towards Diana.

‘You simply must leave now if you value your life!’

He burst out laughing at that - staring at Anne and Diana, who's expressions showed that they evidently thought he had gone mad.

Anne pushed him forwards and he held up his hands, finally capitulating.

‘Alright, alright,’ he said, delighting in her warm hand at his back. 

He turned to her abruptly, needing to see - to check one more time. 

It felt like all the doubt had been scorched away by the white hot light now lit in his soul.

He tipped his hat at Anne and Diana.

‘See you soon, Anne-girl.’

* * *

The book pressed solidly against Anne’s chest during the walk home - wrapped up hurriedly in several copies of the Avonlea Gazzette.

Marilla had been on the warpath when Anne finally burst out from behind the back of the church, paying no mind to Gilbert, hoping desperately that he would manage to avoid questions.

Anne had made up a hurried excuse about looking at the trees behind the church, and thankfully Diana had backed her up - telling Marilla all about the nest of birds they had apparently found.

Anne had quietly whispered her thanks to Diana just before they parted ways.

‘You can pay me back some other time ... by explaining what on earth went on behind that church.’

Anne could only nod. Really, she was sure she had nothing to fear from Diana - she would be perfectly understanding as always. However, Anne herself was barely sure what had happened - the world was still positively spinning.

He had been so close - and she had seen … _something_. It was like a light had turned on behind his eyes and it both terrified and thrilled her in equal parts.

She thought she knew now - but she could not be certain. _How could it even be?_ She didn’t know the first thing about why people felt things … perhaps the book could explain.

But as thankful as she was to have it now in her possession, she felt a creeping sense of dread. 

_Precise intentions …_ she did not know enough to be sure of Gilbert's - of whether or not that light had meant the same thing to her as it did to him.

She still felt woefully unprepared and uneducated - not at all on an equal playing field. Maybe he was experienced enough to understand but she certainly wasn’t - and that thought smarted at her all the way home.

Even if he did feel … _something_. What on earth was she meant to do about it? How could she ever be what he wanted - she was his classmate, and friend … even his kindred spirit - _but how on earth could he see her as anything more?_

He was so far ahead of her. It seemed ridiculous to her that he - someone so sure - could ever be her equal. 

She was constantly flying - and although she felt closer to earth around him, she wasn’t sure that even his presence would be enough. 

There was still work to be done, she felt - work that he couldn’t help her with. 

He couldn’t drag her up to meet him - if anything, she wouldn’t allow it - but it also did not feel quite right.

No matter how important someone feels, no matter how much you want them by your side constantly, they wouldn't always be there. That much she sorely knew - and so she would have to find a way to ground herself outside of him.

That, she felt, would truly make them equals.

  
  


The walk home afforded her this opportunity for reflection - walking at a far brisker pace than the Cuthberts could manage. She trod all the way back to Green Gables with the wind at her back, her whirling thoughts acting almost like a motor, propelling her forward, until she reached her conclusion and came to a stop at Green Gables' gate.

The most pressing matter was the book - not so skillfully disguised amongst the newspapers. She could hear Marilla and Matthew coming up the way behind her and she hurried up the front steps, scarcely making it through the door before Marilla’s voice carried to her.

‘Anne, don’t go inside just yet! Matthew needs help with Belle! Change into your boots quickly and take off your hat.’

Anne whirled around, scrambling on the stoop. 

‘Just a minute!’ Anne called back, hurrying inside and searching frantically for a place to hide the book. She slapped the newspapers down on the kitchen table and rushed into the living room.

She searched for some nook and coming up empty - shoved the book as far back behind the couch cushions as she could manage.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this chapters a bit shorter, but it felt best to end here story-wise.
> 
> Honestly, I'm a bit hesitant about the next few chapters - this, I think, is the peril of writing fic before the entire season is out. Although I have diverged from canon, certain things (that have yet to be resolved in-show) do inform what I write and so I want to be sure I'm not completely missing the mark (in terms of characterisation, etc.)
> 
> I don't know the answer - I don't want to wait until the seasons finished. I am enjoy how reactive writing this is and it's sort of therapeutic to get all my feelings out. However, there is absolutely no hindsight and the actual content of the fic might suffer.
> 
> I'm probably way over thinking it - this is fanfic, it's the chillest thing on earth, I know I can do whatever I want and thats why it's so lovely. 
> 
> So, anyway that's my long-winded way of saying I'm tired of waiting and want the next episode already (what's new?)
> 
> Also, thank you as always to everyone who comments and leaves kudos - it's nice to know that my borderline obsession is shared by others <3


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